Dawn of a New Age
by Tempestt
Summary: During Something Blue B/S make the startling announcement of their engagement and their pending parenthood! After the spell the engagement is off, but Buffy's still pregnant. Why are they convinced Spike's the dad and how will this magically induced pregnancy change Spike and Buffy's life? A/U after Something Blue.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It all belongs to Joss Whedon, ME and various other affiliates. Some dialogue taken from Something Blue.

Spoilers for Something Blue with the assumption that most of us knows how the episode proceeded, but takes a sharp left onto Alternate Universe Avenue pretty much right away. This also starts out somewhat comedic, but downshifts into angst fairly quickly.

Dawn of A New Age

Chapter One:

"It's just so sudden. I don't know what to say." Buffy perched on the straight back chair, nervousness rioting in her belly. The urge to jump up and squeal was nearly overwhelming, but this was an adult moment, and she would be damned if she would let her girlish tendencies ruin it for her.

"Just say yes, and make me the happiest man on Earth." Buffy never thought she would see something so wonderful as the man she loved kneeling before her. He was so strong and handsome, peering at her with such earnest adoration. She couldn't imagine life without him, dreaded the idea of it. He'd come into her life a whirlwind of black leather, hazy smoke, andt bad attitude, making her want to scratch the smirk off his face, but somehow he'd managed to worm his way under her skin until even the thought of breathing without him nearby caused an ache to build in her chest. She loved him so much. There could only be one answer.

"Oh, Spike. Of course it's yes!"

His smile lit him up from the inside, and made the joy vibrating in her belly burst through her whole body. When he pulled her into his arms for a passionate kiss she felt as though she had finally found where she belonged. She was a girl trying to fit the pieces of her life together like a jigsaw, a slayer one moment, college student the next, a daughter on the holidays. The pieces never quite fit. She had to finagle them, smoothing the edges until they were spread too thin. But this. This moment, this man, they fit perfectly. For once, it seemed the universe was going to give her a reward for all her hard work in saving it time and time again. A family.

Spotting Giles over Spike's shoulder she nearly burst with the news. "Giles! You'll never believe what's happened!" She wiggled her beringed finger at him. Spike's heavy skull ring wasn't quite her taste, but him popping the question had been spur of the moment. First they were fighting, letting their passionate natures get the better of them once again then Spike was peering at her with soulful blue eyes, telling her he couldn't live without her. She knew spontaneity was Spike's worst and best trait, but once he made a promise he never went back on his word. His loyalty was never negotiable.

The look Giles was giving her was pure astonishment, and she was happy to focus her attention on Spike as he turned around, wrapping his arm around her waist to provide a solid, united front to her watcher. No, her adopted father. She knew Giles wouldn't approve of Spike, and it meant more to her than she wanted to admit to her fiancée, but of course he understood. He knew her so well. The wry twist to Spike's lips told her he was trying hard to repress his normally caustic attitude. It made her love him all the more.

"Look, mate. I know that you think I'm a right git. But I love Buffy an' I want you to know that I'm goin' to be the kind of man to make her proud." He looked down at Buffy with glowing affection.

"You're not a man," Giles murmured, polishing his glasses.

Spike continued blithely, knowing his status as vampire wasn't something he could change. It was a situation that would need to be worked through one day at a time. "Family is important to me. Always has been. An' this bun in the oven is jus' a miracle, it is."

"Bun?" Giles marathon eyeglass buffing ceased as Spike's words sunk in.

Spike absorbed Giles confusion, and turned to his fiancée. "You haven't told him yet?"

Buffy shook her head shyly, her eyes darting away. She hadn't told anyone. Not even her mother. She wanted them to cherish the secret for a while before everyone else knew. It was such a wonderful miracle, and she knew there would only be questions and castigations once the news was out. "I'm only a few days late. I wanted to be absolutely sure, before we told anyone, and-"

"What, luv?" Spike grasped her suddenly cold hand, and lifted it to his lips. She turned into him, focusing her gaze at the hollow of his throat instead of his eyes. It was just too horrible to contemplate.

"It's just so early yet," she swallowed. "Anything could happen."

Spike gathered her up, laying a soothing cheek against hers. "Shush, luv. Banish the thought. Our little nipper is a fighter, he is. Jus' like us. Nothin's gonna happen to him."

She leaned back in his arms so she could meet his eyes. He always knew what to say to make her feel better. "What makes you so sure it's a he. I'll have you know we Summers women always have girls."

He smiled at her teasingly, but she could see the resolve behind it. "Makes no never mind to me. Boy, girl. It's all ours. Our miracle."

She leaned into him for a kiss. He understood. The baby growing inside her was a miracle. Their miracle. God, she desperately loved this man.

"You can't seriously believe you are capable of fathering a child. If by some miracle, Buffy is pregnant, I can assure you it isn't yours." Giles felt like a Mack truck had hit him. This had to be a spell of some sort. His fading eyesight and their delusions could only be the manifestations of magic.

Spike turned back to the watcher. He knew their battle would probably be ongoing for the rest of their lives, but at this moment he felt it important to reassure the man of his intentions. "It's our baby, mate. I honor my responsibilities. I'm goin'ta make sure Buffy and the niblet are well taken care of."

"How do you propose to do so? You can't even feed yourself."

"I'll get a job. I've got skills. I can make a right proper life for them."

"Living in a tunnel or a graveyard is hardly the place for a child. Buffy deserves better."

Buffy interjected, feeling the strain of the men in her lives arguing dancing on her nerve endings. "Don't I get to decide what I deserve? It's not like I don't spend quality time in graveyards already, but I don't think we will be so bad off as to have to live in one. Spike and I will make this work."

Giles rounded on her. "What about school, Buffy? What will your mother say?"

Buffy chewed her bottom lip. Her little hands were balling up with nervousness as she glanced between her fiancée and her watcher. "I can take a leave of absence or something. Having Spike around will be a big help when the baby gets here. I don't want to be a single mom. And besides, I really love, Spike." She looked at him with shining hazel eyes. "We love each other."

Giles threw his hands up in disgust and made his way to the phone and his crystal decanter of brandy. Clearly, it was a spell and no amount of talking was going to reverse their delusions. He dialed Willow with one hand, while pouring himself a drink with the other.

It was the smacking that made his skin want to crawl off his bones. It sounded distinctly Lovecraftian. He couldn't help but to imagine a knot of cephalopodan arms twisting and writhing around each other, waiting to tangle its next juicy meal in its tentacles. Smack – smack – smack.

"Stop that right now! I can hear the smacking."

The chair would have to go to the dump. It had been a favorite of his for years, extremely comfortable, but now the thought of it being in his home made him want to heave. Spike, with his tongue down Buffy's throat. He needed more scotch.

As startling as it was to have Anya and Xander burst into the room screaming about demons, Giles was more than a little relieved. Perhaps Buffy and Spike would show some decorum now there were more people in the room, actual seeing people. But Spike….so that was pipe dream.

"Why are you holding hands?" asked Anya clearly perplexed. Giles sat back and rubbed his brow. He really didn't want to hear this again.

"They have to hear it sooner or later," prodded Spike, leaving it Buffy's decision on just how much she wanted to tell her mates. He hadn't meant to let the bun out of the oven with the watcher. They were both ecstatic about the news, and he just assumed she would have told everyone in hearing range. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops he was so overjoyed. But he did see her point. It would be heartbreaking if something dreadful were to happen, and having other people intruding on their mourning with their own feelings and condolences would be overwhelming. Life was so fragile, so precious. He should know, having spent years ripping it away. He almost felt sick about it. Would have too if he wasn't so bloody hungry. And sad. Sad at the thought of their little miracle not making it into the world. That would never happen, he snarled silently. He would never let anything happen to his wife to be and their child.

Buffy gripped his hand tightly, and he knew she was having similar misgivings. It was all so new and special, and completely impossible. Fairytales like these never lasted. They were always taken away at the last moment. It was this knowledge that begged them to seize the day.

"I'm pregnant, and Spike and I are getting married!" Buffy burst out, her enthusiasm and happiness uncontainable in her small body. Spike tugged her closer, relishing her vibrancy.

"How? What? How?" Xander babbled.

"Three excellent question," Giles concurred while trying to find the bottle of scotch.

"What are you looking at?" Spike caught Buffy gazing up at him with wet eyes, making all the hostility in the room disintegrate like so much fluff.

"The man I love, and the father of my child." Everything about him softened. He was lost. Completely lost to this woman. He leaned closer, stroking her jawline with his fingers as their lips met. A moment of perfect happiness seared into his mind for eternity.

"I just don't think it's possible. Granted vampires are superior lovers with inexhaustible stamina and unusually large penis, but they are sterile. I mean, could you imagine? With all the sex they like to have there would be millions of vampire babies running around snacking on all the humans," Anya mused. Giles wasn't sure what was more disturbing. Vampire penises or small rabid children tearing through a town. He shuddered.

Spike who was gazing lovelorn into Buffy's eyes while their brows touched, turned his head to smirk at the ex demon. Always knew he liked her. Large penis, indeed!

"Hey! Don't talk about my man's penis." Buffy frowned from the circle of Spike's arms.

Anya had the grace to look chagrined. "Well, I wasn't talking about his penis in particular. I'm sure he has a very nice penis-"

"Please stop," Giles pleaded.

"I second that. No more talk about vampire penises," Xander said with a pained shudder.

"You have a nice penis," Anya reassured her boyfriend.

"Let's just strike the word from our vocabularies. Maybe bleach it from our brains, shall we? Wait did you say married?" Xander perked up.

"Yah!" Buffy wiggled her finger at the couple. Anya obligingly stepped closer.

"Look honey, it's a skull. Not very traditional, but fitting I guess."

Spike looked affronted. "I'll be getting her a proper ring soon enough."

"I-I like it." Buffy pulled her hand to her chest protectively.

Spike flashed her a knowing look from beneath his dark lashes. "Liar."

"I'll always cherish it." Buffy pouted.

"Look at that lip, gonna get it."

Buffy giggled and tried to get away, but Spike captured her. He cupped her cheeks in his palms, angling her face upwards so he could look her in the eyes. "I'll get you a proper ring, pet. Something you can wear on your hand proudly," he whispered over her lips. She smelled like cherry lip-gloss and shampoo. She smelled like Buffy. She smiled, her eyes dreamy as they indulged in more kisses.

"Wait….married….I know something. What is it? Everything's so familiar…work brain – work! Oh! Oh! Willow!"

Xander explained his conversation with Willow and after Buffy's ridiculous, 'I must be immune' statement; they filed out the door to head for the dorms, leaving non-smacking silence in their wake. Giles leaned his head back onto the couch with a sigh and full four fingers of scotch in his tumbler.

On the way to the crypt to do the spell to summon D'Hoffren and hopefully get Willow back, Buffy and Spike began to bicker.

"You want me to quit my job?"

"At least while your pregnant with our child. Yes. One wrong kick and our little miracle will be so much dust. Surely you agree with that?"

That gave Buffy some pause. She did get kicked in the stomach—a lot. And thrown into things. Mostly, the sharp stone edges of tombs. It would be enough to make most women miscarry, but was it enough to make her do the same? She was the slayer. The Chosen were always women. She couldn't be the first one ever to get pregnant. Maybe she was extra strong during pregnancy in order to protect her offspring or some such. Then again, maybe she was extra weak, more prone to miscarriages, because the PTB wouldn't want her laid up for nine months.

Buffy was still mulling it over when an ugly bumpy-headed, two-horned demon with a set of leathers that would have made Pinhead jealous rolled up. Automatically, Buffy stepped in front of the group in a protective stance.

"Look. We don't want trouble." She held up her hands to ward him off. "I just found out I'm pregnant."

The demon stopped, a large grin splitting his face.

"Congratulations! Whose the lucky father?"

"Me, mate." Spike shoved his fists in his duster as he sidled closer to Buffy. For the hundredth time he cursed the chip in his head. There was no way he was going to be able to protect her. He was a right worthless git.

The demon's brows furrowed with suspicion. "Aren't you a vamp?"

Spike looked away abashed. "A miracle, it is."

"Are you two joshing me?"

Now both Buffy and Spike held their hands outward in identical looks of surprise and dismay.

"No!

"Course not!"

"I really am pregnant. And Spike's the father."

The demon's reddish eyes darted between them for a moment, trying to ascertain if they were making fun of him. He didn't like it when people made fun of him for not being as bright as some other demons. It wasn't his fault he was made for fighting and not for thinking.

"Whatever. I just have an irrational urge to eat that dark haired guy. Hand him over and I'll be on my way."

"Uh, I can't let you do that," Buffy stuttered.

"That's too bad, 'cause I really want to eat him. Which is weird since I'm off red meat and all." The demon scratched the center of his chest with a big claw. He glanced around, first looking at Buffy's belly with uncertainty and then at Xander with a great deal of hunger.

"Um, how about this? You give us a head start, then you can chase us?" Buffy offered.

The demon shifted. He really didn't want to hurt anyone. He'd been a good little demon for a while now. Ever since his mate scared him straight. All that talk about the Slayer's, well umm, slaying could make any demon flaccid. His mate and their little broodlings needed him to come home every night. But he was suddenly very hungry.

"Yah, okay. But hurry up. A demon's gotta eat, you know."

"Sure, thanks bunches," Buffy and her group sidled passed.

"Thanks, mate." Spike clapped him on the shoulder.

"Yah, no problem, I'll just stand here and try to remember what I was doing before I got to the graveyard." The demon glanced around as if he wasn't certain where he was.

"Poor guy. The spell's got him all wonky," Buffy exclaimed as her and Spike barricaded the door to the crypt.

"Poor guy! That demon wants to eat me!" Xander exclaimed in horror.

"Well, it's not his fault," Buffy replied.

"I think we all know whose fault it is," Spike snarked.

"Spike!" Buffy spat.

He shrugged. "I'm just sayin', if you'll stopped trying to make Red feel better, and jus' let her sob on your shoulders a bit more, maybe she wouldn't be messin' around with magic.

Xander squealed as a demon burst through the glass and took a swipe at him. The group spread out to defend Anya as she quickly sketched out her circle to summon D'Hoffren. Buffy took a blow that had her sprawled in the dirt, and Spike spitting and snarling in fury. He threw the demon off her, barely registering that his chip didn't so much as tweak. He fought off a second demon, while Buffy tried to secure the door once more. An ugly red-skinned demon flung Spike to the ground where he lay in a daze. Buffy appeared over him, running her small hands up and down his body looking for any wounds. She was just so beautiful, he couldn't resist. He pulled her down for a kiss despite the chaos ensuing around them. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it in her arms.

Then it all just stopped. In a poof of smoke there were no more screams or calls for help. No demons or undertones of chanting. No more love. The heat in his chest evaporated as Buffy backed her body off his, her eyes wide. She took everything with her, including his child.

"I'm sorry, guys." Willow was babbling in the background, but Spike couldn't tear his eyes from Buffy's. It had been a spell. The love, the marriage, all the plans for the future. All of it gone with just a few words from a reckless, heartbroken witch. Everything except the truth.

"It's okay," Buffy murmured reassuringly. She looked away, and Spike felt absolutely bereft. He plunged his knotted hands into the pockets of his duster while she told everyone to head back to Giles'. They filed out, too exhausted and relieved to realize Spike and Buffy weren't with them. Wordlessly, she split off from the group, leaving him to trail a few steps behind. They emerged from the cemetery and headed towards the edge of town.

He held the door for her, as she walked into the Five and Dime on Ester Street. The bright fluorescent lighting hurt his eyes. He waited with hunched shoulders while she chose a rectangular box and walked it up to the register. He could hear the brown paper bag crumple in her fist as she led the way outside and around the edge of the building to the bathrooms. The door shut with a heavy thud as she disappeared inside. He could hear the tinkle of urine, and the higher velocity of the sink. The door opened and he stepped inside. Together they stood at the edge of the sink, silent as the minutes ticked by. They watched the pink plus sign form in the tiny box. Buffy picked up the wand and tossed it into the wastebasket.

"Aren't you goin' to keep it?" His voice was hoarse, as if he just spent the night throwing back whiskey shots.

She paused, her hand on the door, her back to him. "Why?"

"Jus' heard some women do. A memento, I guess."

"Memento's are for happy memories, Spike."

She pushed her way out of the room. A few seconds later, Spike followed her. The wand carefully concealed in his pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It is owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews and follows. They are very much appreciated and always welcome. I'm going to do my level best to update every Friday. Hopefully the formatting will be a little better this go around.

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Two

"So you _are_ pregnant?" Giles couldn't hide his dismay. They'd all gathered at his home after the spell broke to reassure him everything was well. Not that they needed to. He knew the spell was broken as soon as his blurry gaze focused on the nearly empty scotch bottle. Knowing the children would be arriving shortly, he quickly set about sobering himself up with a pot of very strong coffee. However, there wasn't enough coffee in the world to make him feel as if he was sober enough to have heard aright.

"What's going on? What'd I miss?" Willow listened as Buffy explained to the group that her pregnancy wasn't apart of the spell, unlike her faux engagement with Spike. The whole scenario sounded ludicrous to her. She was going to need to bake a whole lot of cookies to make up for this horrendous mess. She glanced longingly at Giles' kitchen.

"Buffy's pregnant." Anya filled her in while munching on some buttery popcorn she had the foresight to pop before Buffy and Spike straggled in. Over eleven hundred years of experience told her the shit was going to hit the fan, and she wanted a front row seat.

"What!?" Willow gasped. "I didn't do it!" She instantly defended, while trying to remember if she had even _thought_ such a thing, much less said it out loud.

"No. Haven't you been listening?" Anya nudged her before pointing to Spike. "It's Spike's fangy progeny."

"That's just not possible." Willow asserted, confident they were pulling her leg. That was until she caught sight of Xander's stricken expression and Giles' 'Defcon One Apocalypse Now' look. "Is it?"

No one answered her. Buffy was slumped in the garbage dump destined recliner while Giles stood nearby, the wire arm of his eyeglasses nearly snapping between his fingers. Spike was situated near the door, his darkened gaze never leaving the crown of Buffy's bowed head. Willow was starting to feel more than guilt rolling around in her too tight stomach. Nervousness and outright anxious fear were playing a little rough and tumble in there as well. Xander shot off the couch to pace with nervous energy behind Willow and Anya, ratcheting up her anxiousness even more.

"When did this happen?" Again, no one answered her, so she fixed her wide-eyed gaze on Buffy. "I mean, how far along are you?"

Buffy shrugged. "Dunno. I'm just a little late," she mumbled into her jacket. She was becoming smaller by the minute as she curled further into herself.

Willow quickly did the math. Being roommates she was pretty familiar with her friend's cycle. You had to be when bunking with a temperamental slayer. "So like, four weeks about?" Buffy nodded halfheartedly. "So it could be Parkers?" Willow perked up. Human baby was of the good. Vampire baby; not so much.

"Who's Parker?" Giles straightened. His hawkish eyes pinned his slayer to the spot, and she shrunk a bit more.

He's a poncy git, that's who," Spike growled.

Buffy sneered at Spike, her body uncurling from the chair. "Yah, it could be Parker's. We used protection, but it could have broke. He's the kinda guy who wouldn't tell me if it did."

"Jus' the kind of bloke you'd want to be the father of your child." Spike stepped out of the shadows, his hands knotted into white-knuckled fists.

"Better than you!" Buffy shot off the chair, forcing Giles to back away as the two squared off.

"You know she's mine. Not some wanker's who can't use a wellie properly. You think he's gonna give two shites about you and the sprog?"

"I don't need someone to take care of me. I'm the goddamn slayer." The room winced at her language.

"You're more than the slayer, you goin'ta be a mum."

"I don't need you to tell me what I am or am not!"

"Someone has to! You're actin' like a poxy bint."

"You're just pissed because there's no way she's yours. She has to be Parkers'."

"I planted that babe in your belly when I was wearin' the ring of Amara and you know it, slayer."

"I don't know anything. I sure as hell don't remember any planting."

"Wait!" Xander advanced on Spike with a wide-eyed look of murderous vengeance. "Did you rape her?" Xander snarled, poking Spike in the chest.

His question unsettled Spike so greatly, he actually back up a step. "You're off your rocker!"

"Well, Buffy sure as hell wouldn't sleep with you of her own free will." Xander let the insinuation hang in the room. Willow squeaked, her hands covering her mouth in horror. Even Anya stopped her popcorn munching to shoot a vengeful glare at Spike. Rape victims had been her all to frequent customers. Most of their requests she did for free.

"Is this true, Buffy?" Giles asked, caught somewhere between Ripperesque outrage and fatherly concern.

Everyone turned to her, including Spike. The room temperature dropped, making it as cold as a morgue. All it would take was one tiny nod from her and he would be so much dust on the ol' man's knick knackery. He watched as the same conclusion ran through her mind. He drew himself up, determined to meet his maker like a man.

"No." She finally spoke, and Spike expelled a pent up breath. "It's not true. Spike didn't rape me. The baby isn't Parker's either."

"If he didn't rape you, and it isn't Parker's, then how?" Willow asked in a small, fearful voice.

Buffy sank back into the chair, her fire extinguished. "I don't know. I just know what Spike says is true. He found the ring, we fought, then it's sorta blank after that, but I know that's when I got pregnant." Buffy's voice was small and sad. It sounded nothing like her. It was driving Spike crazy.

"So he did rape you." Xander whirled on Spike so fast that the vampire barely had time to deflect his fist. Spike slid away, pursued by the rabid younger man. Suddenly, Xander was jerked away and tossed back onto the couch. Anya had to launch herself onto Willow's lap to avoid being squished.

"No!" Buffy shouted, and all three people on the couch stiffened. She stood protectively in front of Spike, her fists shaking at her sides. "Spike did not rape me. I'm certain of it. I just don't remember…" She turned to Spike, her aspect pleading. "Do you?"

He couldn't stop himself from tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. A residual effect of the spell he told himself. "No, luv. I don't. It's like you said." He took a step closer. "I would never…I'd never do that to you, Buffy. Even at my worst." He held her gaze for a long moment, before she nodded.

"I know, Spike. I've always known that about you." She moved away from him, and the intimacy he created.

Giles observed them with something akin to indigestion. "So if not…that." He couldn't say the word. Couldn't comprehend it. Not his slayer. Not Buffy. "Then perhaps it's a side effect of the Ring of Amara we aren't familiar with. Some way to create a prodigy without killing the host? I will need to do some research. Maybe during the fight…close contact…" He wandered to his bookcase, grasping at straws to explain Buffy's condition.

Willow, Xander and Anya ignored him. Their gazes, riveted on Buffy ranged from sad to disappointment to pity. She couldn't stand it a moment longer. In a flurry of activity Buffy picked up her stakes and concealed them on her person.

"Where're you goin'?" Spike's expression was dark. He wasn't a stupid vampire. He knew exactly what she was up too.

"I need to slay something. I'm gonna patrol then head home."

"No." Everyone's head, including Giles' who was nose deep in a book, swung towards Spike. The one word was low, guttural and deadly. Buffy immediately fell back into a defensive stance, her stake raised.

"You aren't the boss of me, Spike. I go where I want and do as I please."

"'m not disputin' that, Slayer, but you have the nibblet to think of. It's like we was sayin' earlier. One wrong kick."

Buffy didn't need a reminder of how happy they'd been just a few short hours ago. How concerned they both had been about the welfare of their child. Angry, scared, tired, she lashed out at the one person who was the root of it all. "Good. Cheaper than abortion."

Willow gasped and even Anya looked stricken. Xander's face lit up, while Giles' expression remained studiously neutral. Spike reacted with darkened fury.

"Slayer," he hissed. Everyone in the room subtly glanced around for wooden weapons. Giles slowly lowered the book he was holding and eyed his crossbow. Spike visibly reined in his anger. He tilted his head back until he could see the ceiling, the tendons in his neck bulging beneath pale skin. He rolled his head, loosening the muscles in his shoulders and relaxed his fists. Dipping his chin, he made sure he had Buffy's complete attention before speaking. "She's our miracle," he reminded her in a quiet voice, reminiscent of the awe they'd both shared earlier, their reverence in contemplating their future together as a family. Her, him, and their precious miracle. Buffy felt a sudden and fiercely protective surge wash over her, but she stubbornly fought it down. The thing inside her wasn't a miracle. It was an abomination.

"It's not like I'm psyched to give birth to some freaky vampire human hybrid, Spike. It's a monster. Just like you."

Buffy didn't wait to see the despair etched on Willow's face, the disappointed disgust on Anya's or the victorious smirk on Xander's. All she saw was the sick hurt on Spike's as she pushed her way to the door. As she passed over the threshold, she glanced back, looking over everyone to her watcher, the man who'd been her guide between good and evil for so many years. His face was blank as he watched her go, and she felt something crack inside her, before she slammed the door shut.

Rage filled every crook and crevice in her mind. It burned her through her chest, and threatened to leak out of her eyes in acidy rivulets. She stomped through the graveyard, barely noting her surroundings. The fledgling she steamrolled into was already fanged out and sniffing the air for blood. She recoiled in disgust. It was easy to forget with Spike about the monster simmering beneath his human mask. Fledglings were more honest in their appearance, their ridges grotesque, their fangs glistening with saliva. There was nothing about them to confuse her. She knew exactly what she was dealing with. A demon, a monster, something that needed to be put down like a rabid dog.

Tears scorched her eyes, and the fledgling became a dark shadow. It struck her on the side of the head, and her feet became tangled beneath her. She fell over, her ribs cracking against the sharply angled edge of a granite grave marker. She hit the ground with a thud, desperately trying to catch her breath. The fledgling dove for her, landing on her upturned stake. She was still choking on dust when she rolled onto her side, curling protectively around her belly. Her muscles stiff, her heart barely beating, she waited for a sign her body was going to expel her baby. When there was no pain, she pulled herself upright to lean against the grave marker, tears coursing down in her cheeks.

"Buffy? Are you injured?" Giles unexpected appearance only made Buffy cry harder. So hard he was afraid she would make herself sick. She wrapped her arms tightly around her shins and buried her face into her knees as if she could hold herself together despite the wracking shudders assailing her slight frame. Seeing she had no physical injury, Giles grimaced and patted her consolingly on the shoulder, but his charge's misery didn't abate. He disliked the aura of impropriety attached to any physical contact he had with his charge, but she was more than his slayer. She was Buffy. He settled himself beside her, feeling the chill of the tombstone behind him, and the heat of her body pressed against his side. He awkwardly settled his arm around her shoulders in a fatherly manner, stifling a grunt of surprise when she huddled closer, burying her wet face in the labels of his tweed jacket. Her entire body shook as she sobbed, and for once Giles forgot his duty. He became a father consoling his teenage daughter.

"I'm so scared, Giles." Her sobs lessened, but she remained huddled into his side. Evening mist was forming in low eddies around the tombs, shimmery and pearlescent in the moonlight. The cold seeped into Giles' bones, and he had to fight the urge to shift his seat to relieve the ache. He pulled Buffy closer in a one armed hug, resting his chin on the crown of her head. She was so small and childlike, it was easy to forget she was a powerful woman.

"This situation would be frightening under normal circumstances. Your feelings are perfectly understandable."

"But these aren't normal circumstances are they? I'm not just some stupid kid who made a bad choice and got knocked up. I have a monster inside me."

"We don't know that for certain."

"Don't we? It's a vampire baby. What if it tries to eat me from the inside out? Starts making dinner plans for my liver? It could burst out of my chest like that alien move!"

"Uh, well." Giles was horrified.

Buffy wound herself up, her fists clenching and releasing the stiff fabric of his jacket. "Or what if I have this baby, and it's totally normal? You know. Cute and adorable with blue eyes and gold curls. And I love her. Love her with all my heart. Then one day she starts running around killing people like that Omen kid. What if I have to stake my own baby?"

Buffy was sobbing again, her voice escalating to be heard over her own ragged breathing. Clearly, Buffy watched too much late night television after her patrols. It gave her more nightmares than the reality of her life. He should speak to Joyce about it. "Those aren't even the worst case scenarios!"

"They're not?" Giles asked, befuddled. They sounded pretty worst case to him.

"What if she's perfectly normal?" Buffy asked in a rough voice. Her sobs dried up again, leaving her feeling wrung out and exhausted deep in her soul.

Giles didn't know what to say. "She?" It hadn't gone unnoticed that other than their small spat while under the spell both her and Spike almost exclusively referred to the child as female. It gave credence to his thoughts that this was a magically induced pregnancy. He would need to check for prophecies. Something this momentous would have to be recorded somewhere.

Buffy shrugged, picking at the frayed hem of her jeans. She was never going to be able to afford new clothes with a baby. She could barely replace her wardrobe as it was. She'd have to resign herself to being fashion challenged.

Giles cleared his throat as the silence became deafening. "Well, I would think that normal would be a good thing."

"Shyeah."

Giles angled himself to the side to see her face, but she turned away. "It's not a good thing?"

Buffy picked at the thread on her jeans as the silence length. Finally, she shifted so she could look up at her watcher. Her pale brow was furrowed, her eyes red and watery.

"What if I can't protect her from my enemies? I'm the slayer. Lot's of things want me dead, and what if they go through her to get to me? What if something takes my baby and I can't save her?"

Giles felt his heart clench. His arm tightened around her shoulders and she relaxed into him, resting her head over his heart. Her fear was indescribable. He felt something very close to it every time Buffy walked out his door to face some new threat.

"What if-?" Giles felt his heart come to a stop as he waited for her to finish. "What if I die?" she asked in a small voice. "I'll have this baby. A little person whom I'd be responsible for, but I'm still the slayer, yeah? Expiration date and all that. What if I die, and leave her all alone, and something terrible happens that I can't protect her from? She'd hate me."

Giles placed his big hand over her skull, his blunt fingers resting on her softly tangled curls. He felt so much bigger and stronger than her, like a parent to a small child, but at the same time he had never felt such overwhelming helplessness. Her fears, so meticulously lined out, told him what he had always known. Buffy was a bright, thoughtful girl, who didn't deserve any of the awful things that happened to her, but she was also a girl who had the instinct to protect written in her DNA.

"She wouldn't hate you, Buffy. She would love and miss you. Besides these 'what if's' may never come to pass. You mustn't dwell on them."

"May never doesn't mean will never, Giles. Besides all these problems are solvable, right?"

"They are?"

"I'll just make an appointment at the clinic." Buffy struggled for nonchalance, but her voice was pitched too high.

"You wish to terminate the pregnancy?" Giles asked neutrally.

"Do you think I should?" Buffy held herself very still against him. Giles was equally stiff. He really didn't know what to think. On the one hand the child could be prophesized. Something that was meant to be. On the other hand, both Spike and Buffy were inexplicably convinced the child was his, and nothing but evil could ever come from Spike. Prophesies themselves hardly ever foresaw the fluffier side of things either. Chances were the child was going to be evil, even if it was being born by someone as pure as Buffy. Evil quite often gestated in innocents.

"I think it's not my decision to make. I'm your watcher, Buffy, and it's my duty to keep you safe, but there are some things that I can't give you direction on." He trailed off as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. Buffy heard it in the soft roll of his voice.

"But?"

He hesitated, looking out into the rows of pale tombstones. An owl hooted it's intent to hunt in the distance. Predators were out, and this was their hunting ground. The one place where his charge was comfortable enough to make life altering decisions.

"Evil comes in many different forms. Whatever you decide, you must be careful."

Buffy's only response was to withdrawal from him subtly. It wasn't a conscious move on her part, but he felt it in his heart. He wanted to be supportive, and he would have if the father had been human. But Spike wasn't human. And no matter his protestations to the contrary, he was nothing but a threat to Buffy and her child. If Buffy had the child, it would mean being tied to Spike for the rest of her life. That was something he didn't want for her. He unwound his arm from her shoulders as he prepared to stand.

"What about, Spike?" Her soft question halted him.

"What about him?" Giles asked quizzically.

"It's his baby. Shouldn't I take his feelings into account?"

He put his warm hand over her cold one, before speaking. "I'm still not entirely convinced Spike is the father. Besides, he is a vampire. He isn't capable of real emotional depth."

"He's the father," she vowed with conviction. "And he seemed pretty emotional to me. He really wants this baby."

"It's just another trophy for him. A way to set himself apart from other vampires and increase his reputation. He doesn't truly care about you or your baby."

"He calls her a miracle. Our miracle." Her voice was tiny, nearly insubstantial.

Feeling inadequate, he stiffly struggled to his feet. These weren't subjects he was versed in. Books were his forte. Emotions were messy and there were no guidelines on how to handle them. He steadied himself on the grave marker, before reaching out his hand.

"Let me walk you back to your dorm room."

Buffy lifted her head, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. Scrunched up on the ground, he could see the child she must have been, and he felt a momentary tinge of sorrow he hadn't been there for her when she was younger. She must have been a precocious little spitfire. _Still is, _he thought. She took his proffered hand, dusting off her jeans as she stood.

"No. Take me home, please. I need my mom."

He nodded, tucking her tiny hand in the crease of his elbow as they walked out of the graveyard.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It all belongs to Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Three

Spike watched as Giles and Buffy left the graveyard. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, inhaling the nicotine deeply into his lungs to steady his nerves. He had heard the entire conversation, having been about to approach the Slayer before Giles appeared. What was said broke his unbeating heart. He hadn't realized Buffy's fears ran so deep. Her natural animosity towards vampires had her envisioning a monster growing inside her, while the distrust implanted by Angelus made her fearful of any kind of love, even between a mother and child. Then there were the fears manifested just by the nature of her being the Slayer. The fear that the child would be hurt because of what she was or her own death would leave it unprotected. All of Buffy's fears came back to one premise- she was alone. She was surrounded by friends, a mother who loved her, yet she still felt as if she'd be the only one raising and more importantly, protecting their child. Buffy was either unwilling or too ignorant to realize that he'd fight just as fiercely to protect their child as she would.

He didn't know why he thought the baby was his. It was just something he _knew._ It was a bone-deep ache in his marrow. He was meant to protect this child. He was meant to apart of its life. It was enough to humble any monster.

He left the graveyard and headed to Willy's. He needed a drink in the worst possible way. The joint smelled of spilt beer, cigarettes and demon musk. Spike liked it because the corners were dark, and blood was cheap. He settled at the bar, his demeanor daunting enough for Willy to wordlessly leave a bottle of Jack in front of him, only returning to replace it when it became empty. Spike was well passed happily sloshed and on his way to rat arsed when a demon broke away from a group of nervous looking monsters huddled in a booth in the back.

"Hey! The guys and I just wanted to buy you a drink." The demon greeted as he bellied up to the bar.

Spike cocked his head to eye the demon. He was in a human mien; dark hair and gray eyes, studded leathers that were a little too garish even for his tastes. Spike was certain he hadn't met him before, but he did seem familiar. "Wot for?"

"To say congratulations on your bundle of joy."

Spike slammed his tumbler on the bar with a loud smack and whirled to face the demon.

"Do I know you, mate?" he snarled and the demon took a step back, his hands raised.

"Uh. We, uh, met earlier." The demon's human disguise melted away revealing gray skin and backswept horns.

"You're the demon from the cemetery." Spike's wariness settled, and he dismissed the demon from his thoughts. He picked up the bottle of Jack to replace the whiskey that had sloshed out when he slammed his glass down. The demon approached him tentatively, his human aspect slipping back into place.

"Is uhh, everything okay? Is your girl—err-the Slayer doing okay?"

"She's not acknowledging me right now," Spike muttered bitterly into his liquor.

The demon visibly relaxed. "Heh, yah. Been there a time or two. Women sure know how to make you crawl for it sometimes. But the baby's okay and all?"

"What'da ya care?" Spike shot the demon an angry look, wondering why he thought it was okay to cozy up to the bar next to him. Did he think they had bonded or something?

"Well, you know, with the fighting and everything. You gotta be careful. Wouldn't want anything to happen to her."

Spike vamped out as he grabbed the demon by the collar and shook him off the barstool. "You threatening my family?" For all the violence of his actions, his tone was silky with deadly intent.

"What? No! Of course not. I'd never do that. I've a family myself," the demon scrambled to assure him, musky with fear.

Spike glared into the demon's terrified face. Deciding he wasn't a threat, he released him with a shove. The demon caught himself before he fell. He straightened his studded leathers, shooting Spike a look of irritation. Spike sighed and motioned to Willy.

"Look. I'm being a wanker. Jus' had a shite night is all. I'll buy you a drink."

The demon glanced over to his friends, noting their looks of terrified concern. They all knew of Spike's reputation for violence, and being of the nonviolent types they usually tried to avoid him. The demon glanced back at Spike, noticing his tight-lipped look and relented. He'd seen that look on many a man. Himself included. He gave Willy his order as he resettled himself on the stool.

"Woman trouble?"

"You said it, mate." Spike shot another finger of whiskey and poured himself another.

"Name's Dekker."

They briefly shook hands. Spike didn't bother to introduce himself. Everyone knew who he was and if they didn't, well, they wouldn't make the mistake for long.

"Aren't ya a Purgos demon? What're you doin' hanging around those prats?" Spike nodded to the reflection in the mirror over the bar. Dekker glanced at his friends.

"What'ya mean?"

"They're a bunch of pillocks. Don't hunt humans. If I remember aright, Purgos demons like the taste of human flesh."

Dekker shifted uncomfortably. "Yah. Well, my mate has me on a no humans diet. Afraid the Slayer might-"

"Slay you?" Spike offered.

"Yah." Dekker shrugged sheepishly.

"Nuthin' wrong with that. A demon's gotta take care of his own. Can't do that with a stake in your heart."

Dekker nodded and blew the froth off his pint. "Hard enough taking care of them as it is. Can't get work with the evils, and the goods are afraid of me. I got six broodlings and it seems like every time I turn around they need their fangs twisted or their horns polished."

Spike cast Dekker a glance from under the veil of his lashes. "That's tough, mate."

Dekker ducked his head, and they lapsed into a short uncomfortable silence.

"So you and the Slayer, huh?"

"What of it?" Spike asked tightly. A hundred and twenty years of building his reputation as the Big Bad shot to hell over a woman he didn't even like. _Right?_

"It's just-neat."

"Neat?"

Dekker shifted. "Well, yah. Maybe, she'll be less—" Dekker made a sharp jabbing motion with his hand.

"Stabby?" Spike finished.

"No offense, man. But she is the scourge of the demon world. And now with those commando guys running around." Dekker shuddered. "Population's getting a little demon lite. Ya know what I mean?"

"Yah." Spike answered noncommittally. Buffy was Heaven's Chosen One. It was her job to keep the balance, but those commandos were tipping the scales, and no good ever came from an imbalance of nature.

A group of riotous demons burst through the back door, the biggest of the group striding up to Willy. Spike threw back another shot, noticing how Dekker stilled in his seat and Willy shrank away.

"Time to pay up, human."

"I-I just paid last week," Willy squeaked.

The big demon grabbed Willy by the shirt collar and hauled him over the bar.

"You'll pay up when I say or we'll break this joint up good."

"That's not cool," Willy protested. "I told ya I'd pay your protection money, it's only right. I gotta be under someone's protection, right? Don't want my place busted up by any ol' demon, but you can't just steal everything I got."

Spike was listening to the conversation only on the peripheral. He had no reason to get involved in Willy's business dealings. It wasn't uncommon for the demon business owners to pay protection money to whichever gang of thugs claimed turf in their neighborhood, but they were notoriously unreliable. Being thugs and all. The protection usually guaranteed less protection from other random demons, and more protection from the gang itself from retaliating against the business owner. It was kinda like insurance. As long as you paid them, they didn't wreck your joint. The gangs themselves changed all the time, depending on who had the most power at the time or if during a particularly veracious slaying spree Buffy unintentionally wiped them out. It made no never mind to Spike if Willy was getting shook down, just as long as the barkeep kept serving liquor.

Spike watched in the mirror as one of the demons nudged a crony then pointed at the empty space where he was sitting. They whispered something he couldn't hear, but guessed it wasn't good when they broke into matching malicious grins.

"Look, guys. It's the Slayer's leashed vamp toy. The skank got herself knocked up, and she's got this dumbass thinking he's the father. I mean, how stupid do you have to be? Everyone knows vamps can't have kids."

Spike turned to Dekker. "Who all did you tell?" he spat.

Dekker looked repentant. "Just a few of the guys. I didn't think it was a secret. You two were all about announcing it to the whole graveyard."

Another demon stepped up, rubbing his crotch with a leer on his face. "If I'd known she was that easy, I would have taken a poke at her a long time ago. She's not bad looking for a human. Perky little tits and I bet her ass is so tight you'd lose your-"

Spike crossed the distance between him and the demon in a flash, his long coat billowing behind him. He slammed his fist into the demon's heavily reinforced jaw, shattering the thick bone with one blow. Spike tensed, expecting to feel an excruciating shock from the chip, only to exhale in relief when nothing happened. He'd been afraid the fight with the demons at the graveyard had been a fluke brought about by the spell, but it seemed the chip only fired when he attacked humans. As long as he stayed clear of them, he should be fine. The demon at his feet groaned, and with malicious glee he stomped on it's head.

"That's my fiancée you're talking about," Spike snarled. Deep down he cursed the residual effects of the spell that kept triggering repressed thoughts of Buffy being his bride, but the result was still the same. She was the mother of his child, and she would be respected.

The largest demon dropped Willy, and with a nod of his head the rest of the gang charged. Spike lashed out with every weapon at his disposal, hands and feet shattering bone, fangs tearing flesh. He was vaguely aware of a presence at his side as Dekker waylaid a demon who tried to blindside him. In mere minutes most of the gang were either dead or damn near. Spike grinned maniacally, nodding his thanks to Dekker.

"Great!" Willy threw his hands up in the air. "Now whose gonna run the racket?" He glanced around, worried demons were going to spontaneously start wrecking his place. Spike watched him with a narrowed glance, a half formed idea taking root.

"I am, mate. I'm takin' over." He glanced around the bar, satisfied when no other demons would meet his hard look.

"Spike?" Willy stuttered nervously.

"I'll watch your place, and everyone else's too. Treat you fair I will, and you'll give me a good bit of dosh for it too. Yeah?"

Willy assessed him a moment, before nodding with a small smile. "Yeah," he agreed.

Spike returned his nod. He emptied the pockets of the dead demons, and for the first time in a long time he paid his bill. He took the rest of the money and split it with Dekker.

"Need a job?"

Dekker grinned.

"Good," Spike said curtly. "I need a right hand man I can trust."

"You got it, man."

"And a crew."

"I can get you one of those," Dekker assured, a gleam in his eye.

"Good. I want all the demon run business under our control by the end of the week. Put the word out. The Big Bad is in town, and he's lookin' to run it." Spike smacked his hands together, an evil smile curling his lips around his fangs.

Dekker swallowed. "All of it?"

Spike's eyes glittered sulfur yellow under the dim lights. "All of it. From docks to the hills. They can either kneel down or choke on blood. Either way, I'm getting my due." Spike clapped Dekker on the shoulder. "Gotta take care of our women folk anyway we can, yeah?"

"Yeah," Dekker agreed as they exited the bar.

"Buffy, phone!"

Buffy rolled over with a groan. Her eyes felt swollen from last night's crying jag, and she had a horrible case of cottonmouth. Rubbing her face with her hands, she shuffled out to the hall where a polished wood end table was pushed against the wall, a vase full of fake sunflowers in the center. She plucked the cordless phone off the base, leaning her warm forehead against the cool plaster wall.

"Got it, mom," she called down the stairs. "Hello?"

"Spike didn't come back last night."

"Giles?" Buffy felt a little fuzzy as she made her way to the bathroom.

"Did you hear me?" Giles concern was apparent, but Buffy couldn't drum up any corresponding feeling. She caught her reflection in the mirror and shuddered. Oh, yeah. She needed a long, hot shower.

"Yeah. What of it?"

"Who knows what he's up too?"

"He's a big boy. I'm sure he can take care of himself." Buffy retrieved a clean washcloth from the cabinet and turned on the tap.

"That's what I'm worried about," Giles muttered.

Buffy ran the cloth under the water, and wrung it out as best she could with one hand. "Look, Spike's got that chip, right? So it's not like he's on a reign of terror. And frankly, I have other things I need to worry about right now. He'll turn up when he gets hungry. Till then I'm gonna take a break from Spike sitting. Okay?" She knew she was being harsh, but she was wrung out. And tired. She hadn't been this tired in a long time. She pressed the cold cloth to her eyes, suppressing the urge to moan.

"Yes, of course, Buffy. You get some rest. I'll keep a look out for Spike. Don't you worry."

"I'm not," she replied dully.

"Very well. I'll speak to you later."

"Bye, Giles." She hung up the phone, dropping it on the back of the toilet, and stripped off her clothes in preparation for what she hoped to be the best hot shower of her life.

An hour later, a dressed and partially living Buffy oozed down the stairs and turned towards the kitchen where she could hear her mother moving around. She made it to the threshold when the smell of cooked eggs assaulted her. She spun on her heel, ducking into the downstairs bath, barely making it to the toilet before she started to dry heave. Fantastic. Since she hadn't eaten in more than twelve hours the only thing she could bring up was clear bile, but that didn't stop her stomach from trying to flip itself inside out.

"Buffy, are you okay?" Her mom knocked loudly on the door, making Buffy's head pound.

"I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yah. I think something's off with those eggs you're cooking. They smell pretty rank. I'll be out in a sec."

Buffy could sense her mother's lingering presence outside the door for a few moments before she returned to the kitchen. She rested her heated brow on the rim of the cool porcelain seat, breathing deeply through her mouth in an effort to avoid toilet stench. When she finally felt like her world wasn't going to upend itself, she stood and rinsed her mouth out in the sink.

When she came out, the smell of eggs had disappeared, and her mother was washing the pan in the sink. Buffy smiled at her, and listlessly made her way to the refrigerator.

"Are you sure you're okay, Buffy?

"I said I was fine," Buffy snapped. She was feeling more irritable than usual, but gees, how many times did she have to answer the same question. She wrenched opened the fridge and a god-awful odor wafted out. Buffy whirled towards the kitchen sink, knowing instinctively she wouldn't make it back to the bathroom. She convulsed over the sink, her stomach empty even of bile. Her mother ran a soothing hand down her back while murmuring words of encouragement that made Buffy feel better even at her worst. She wondered if this is what being a mother was about, holding your children close even when they were at their grossest.

When she finished, her mother guided her to the couch in the living room. "Why don't you just lay down for a bit and I'll get you some toast?"

"K, mom," Buffy agreed meekly. She laid down, her arm over her sensitive eyes to block out the light. Life totally sucked sometimes.

Her mom came back with two slices of dried toast and a glass of milk, which was weird. The only time Buffy had milk was on her cereal or if she was dunking cookies. Joyce sat in the recliner near the head of the couch, watching Buffy with cool eyes. Buffy's stomach gurgled, reminding her how hungry she was. _Probably just wants something to throw up the next go around, _she thought wryly as she wolfed down the surprisingly appetizing toast. After a few moments, she noticed her mom watching her appraisingly.

"What?" she asked around a mouthful of toast.

Joyce shook her head as she leaned back in her chair. "You know when I was pregnant with you every little smell would set me off. A hint of rotten food in the fridge, the produce isle in the grocery store, asphalt in the summer. Your father couldn't even wear cologne. It would just make me wretch."

Joyce caught sight of Buffy's pale, stricken features, and suddenly it all clicked.

"Omigod, Buffy. Are you pregnant?"

Buffy's only answer was to hide her eyes behind her hands. Joyce shot up from the chair. "How could this of happened?" Buffy hadn't thought it possible for her to cry anymore, but she was wrong. She started shuddering with dry sobs that made her eyes burn.

"I don't know, mommy. Parker was being mean to me. And then Spike was there and we started fighting. And there was this ring." Her harsh sobs made it hard for her to speak, and her mother instantly flew to her side, gathering her close in a calming embrace.

"Just start from the beginning," she coaxed. Buffy nodded and told her everything.

After she finished she couldn't meet her mother's shell-shocked eyes. She never felt so small in all her life. She knew her mother was disappointed in her. How could she not be? It seemed all Buffy ever did was make one bad decision after another, starting with Angel and ending with Spike.

"So Spike didn't—"

"No!" Why did everyone assume that Spike raped her? She was getting tired of it. The uncertain look in her mother's eye told her that she didn't believe it either, but had to ask to be sure.

"No. Of course he wouldn't. He's a good boy."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "He's like a hundred and something years old. He's hardly a boy."

Joyce nodded, her hand idly tracing the inside of Buffy's wrist. She was wearing her mulling face that always made Buffy nervous.

"So what are you thinking?" It was a noncommittal, multilayered mom question that Buffy was rarely treated to. It was an acknowledgment of Buffy's adulthood and right to make her own decisions, while expressing unvoiced solidarity and support. Buffy shied away from other, deeper implications of the question.

"Well, it would be hard to continue college." Buffy danced around the subject at hand.

"True. But you are hardly the first student to ever get pregnant. I'm sure we can arrange a leave of absence that won't effect your student status."

Buffy nodded, already have thought about it. She didn't know yet if she wanted to continue college. The idea of juggling motherhood, classes and slaying seemed overwhelming.

"Then there's the slaying."

"Yes, the slaying." Joyce's voice was quiet, soothing, but Buffy could feel the tension in her mother at the mention of her night job. It wouldn't take much for Joyce to advocate giving up slaying. A baby would be just the leverage she would need. However, at the moment, her mom didn't seemed inclined to play that card. When Buffy didn't say more, Joyce slid her long fingers between hers, and tugged her back so they could look at each other.

"These are all things to consider when you are about to be a mother, but they aren't the only things."

"They're not?" Buffy was confused. Giles expounded on addressing facts when one had a dilemma to solve. There were always pros and cons to be considered meticulously. It was part of a slayer's training to assess situations with levelheaded calculation.

"No." Joyce waited a beat before saying more. "Buffy, how do you feel when you think about having a baby?"

That wasn't hard. "Fear, anxiety, anger," she babbled.

"Anything else?" Joyce prodded.

Buffy paused, searching deep. "Excitement?" she murmured tentatively. "Maybe kinda happy."

Joyce nodded. "And what do you feel when you think about not having the baby?"

Buffy tensed at the thought. There were a lot of emotions swirling inside her, but one stood out the most. "Loss," she whispered. Joyce rubbed a hand down her back, her fingertips dusting over the small knobs of her spine. Buffy frowned, not completely convinced. "I think, maybe, Giles wants me to have an abortion."

It was Joyce's turn to tense. "It's a good thing it's not his decision." Joyce's voice lost its warm, soothing quality and Buffy shivered.

"He's my watcher."

"But he's not the father. How does Spike feel about it?"

Buffy turned away, picking at some nonexistent dirt under her nails. "Giles says vampires don't have feelings."

"That's just ridiculous twaddle and you know so, Buffy Anne." Buffy drew back, suddenly ashamed. "That's just years of racial prejudice talking."

"I don't think it's the same thing, mom. Vampires aren't people, they're just evil."

"They are too people and maybe some of them are evil. There're certainly evil humans out and about."

"There are no none evil vamps."

"What about, Angel?"

"He has a soul."

"So you're saying that Spike's lack of soul makes him incapable of loving his child."

"Well, yeah."

"I am extremely disappointed in you right now, Buffy. You are judging an entire race because of preconceived misconceptions."

"They are preconceived on the basis that he's tried to kill me more than once. Recently in fact."

"Things change. And it seems to me you gave that Angel character more than his fair share of chances. It seems a little narrow-minded of you to dismiss Spike out of hand. Especially since he's going to be the father of your child."

"I don't know if I'm keeping it," Buffy said mutinously. She narrowed her eyes at her mother. Was this her way of getting that fat grandbaby she had always wanted? Something she could have and love after Buffy is dead and gone? Buffy winced. She was just being mean now. Her mother didn't think like that.

Joyce wound down. She sat back on the couch to study her daughter's profile. The moment lengthened and Buffy fidgeted.

"Well. Are you?" her mother prodded.

Buffy expelled a harsh breath, settling back against the cushions with her mother. She already knew what the answer was, there was no point denying it any longer.

"Yes, I'm going to keep it. I won't let anything happen to my baby."

Joyce patted Buffy's knee reassuringly. Buffy relaxed for the first time since the spell broke yesterday.

"Then you need to make amends with Spike. He is the father, and you two need to come to an understanding of some sort."

"Yah, we got an understanding, alright. He comes around and I stake him."

Joyce sighed in disappointment and Buffy had to fight the urge to curl up in shame.

"Give it time, honey. You'll work it out."

"I guess," Buffy answered. She lulled her head to the side and peeked out between the curtain panels. The sun was blindingly bright, and she wondered what Spike was doing at that moment.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It's all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: There is some Giles/Joyce in this chapter. I think they're cute. And we older folks need lovin' too.

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. I'm so happy you all are enjoying the story so far.

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Four

"Mrs. Summers." Giles gaped at the immaculately dressed woman who stood outside his front door at an ungodly early hour. The bright morning sun cast a gold halo around her head, and he had to squint to see her fine features. He resisted the urge to rub his brow as the drinking binge from previous evening made its presence painfully known. "Please, do come in," he offered more to get her out of the light than to be polite.

"Call me, Joyce, please." She breezed by, stopping a few feet from the door. Mr. Giles and her had danced around the edges of propriety for years. It was better to have distance and with it came perspective. Perspective was something they needed in the last years. First names made their perspective blurry. Nicknames like Joycie and Ripper obliterated it completely.

"Please, sit. Would you like tea?" He tactfully sidestepped her name, keeping perspective intact.

"Yes, thank you." Joyce tucked her smart, beige business skirt beneath her thighs as she sat primly on the edge of his older couch made presentable by a colorful afghan arranged over the back. As he returned with a tea tray and some puffy muffins, he had to force his lingering gaze away from her long legs encased in nude hose. He vividly remembered those legs curling around his hips, her delicate ankles locked behind his back.

He set down the tea tray with a sharp rattle. "Please, have a blueberry muffin. They're store bought," he offered apologetically.

Joyce smiled. "Well, I certainly wouldn't expect a bachelor such as yourself to have had made them." She often found herself wondering why Mr. Giles was still a bachelor. She supposed his duties to Buffy dictated a certain amount of privacy, but he was a very handsome, virile man. Very virile. There was absolutely no reason for him to be single.

"Yes, yes. Of course." Giles sniffed as he poured her tea. "Sugar? Milk?"

"Milk, please." The stiff etiquette in the room could crack ice.

The tea served, Giles uncomfortably settled himself next to her at an angle. He was under no illusions as to why she was there, but he would rather postpone the conversation as long as possible. She must have felt the same, since she allowed the silence to stretch as they sipped their tea.

She knew in this instance distance wasn't going to be possible. Perspective just didn't need to be blurred; it needed to be recreated completely, which meant obliteration of the status quo. This could only be accomplished by closing the distance and the sharing of private things. Things which were embarrassing to her, but she was willing to make the sacrifice for her child. After all, that's what mothers do.

"I met Hank while we were still in college," she commented to her tea. Her teacup was carefully balanced on her knees. They stared at it together. An innocuous blue and white pattern hardly benefiting the attention it received from the two occupants in the room. "After he completed his MBA we were married, though I finished my MA in Art History the year before. I didn't realize at the time, but Hank had traditional-views-on women's roles." Giles shifted uncomfortably, his gaze focused less on the teacup and more on her long slender fingers toying with the rim. "My expertise on art was all well and good when it came to hob knobbing with his co-workers during company events, but we both agreed I should stay home with our children, and Buffy was born soon after."

Realizing he was ogling her, Giles diverted his attention to a blueberry muffin. His appetite suddenly gone, he settled for picking it slowly apart, squishing blueberries between his fingers like eyeballs.

"When Buffy was three, Hank started staying late at work. The foolish young woman that I was, I thought we were having financial troubles and I promptly got a low paying job at an art gallery. I was very proud of that job." She smiled softly and finally took a sip of her cooling tea. "When I finally did find out what Hank was doing, he nearly convinced me to quit. Clearly, I had overextended myself if I couldn't see to my husband's needs."

Giles' blueberry muffin squeezed out between his fingers. He hastily set it aside and conspicuously wiped his hands with a paper napkin. It shredded on his sticky fingers, and he silently berated himself for not setting out his linens. Paper napkins were all fine and good for the children and their donuts, but Joycie deserved better.

"But you didn't?" he rumbled.

"What?" She seemed startled, almost if she had forgotten he was there.

"Quit," he reminded, silently offering her more tea.

She added milk. The only sound in the room was the clink of her spoon against the rim of her cup. "No. I've always had a rebellious streak." She blushed, remembering chocolate bars tainted with youth.

Giles cleared his throat. "Like mother, like daughter, I say."

Joyce smiled proudly. "Yes, she did get some of her independence from me, I'll admit." Her smile melted. "Of course, her bravery must come from someplace else all together."

"I daresay it didn't," Giles protested only to be cut off by her sharp, angry glance.

"No. It did. You see, I stayed. For eleven long years. It came to a head when Buffy was about fourteen. The fights wouldn't stop. And I was so angry. I kept asking myself 'why can't he just be loyal?' 'What is it about me that is so unloveable?' Of course mistakes are always correctable in hindsight." She exhaled a gust of air. "I made some whoopers too. I was so caught up in my misery that I completely overlooked Buffy's. When the trouble started I thought she was just acting out. When she started babbling about vampires, I-"

Her teacup rattled as she set it on the table. She curled her fingers around the hem of her skirt, yanking it towards her knees. The fine white bone of her knuckles showed beneath her translucent skin. She inhaled a ragged breath, making every vertebrae in Giles' spine tighten. He locked his large hands around his teacup to prevent himself from reaching out to her, wishing it were a cut crystal tumbler instead.

"I told myself she was just punishing me for making her father leave," she whispered as if revealing some dark, terrible secret. He handed her a napkin and she turned away to dab the corners of her eyes. "It wasn't until we came here, even before I knew about the slaying, that I understood she believed Hank left because of her. Because of all the trouble she was mixed up in. She believed she drove him away. Still does, I suppose. I had no idea how to fix it. I couldn't tell her why he left. I couldn't break him down in her eyes to build myself up. So I didn't say anything, and time passed. Now I realize those wounds healed, but the scars are deep."

Giles inched closer, placing a big hand in the small valley between her shoulder blades. Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned into his comfort. "Joyce, none of it is your fault. You are a beautiful, vibrant woman, and Hank is nothing but a fool." Something inside her cracked a tiny bit, and she realized she needed to make a clean get away before things got out of hand. She would not run this man off like she had Hank. Buffy needed Giles. She leaned forward, gathering the tea things onto the try.

"Please, don't bother," Giles protested.

"I insist." She picked up the tray and carted it towards the kitchen. Efficiently, she rinsed the cups and gathered the used napkins. She lifted the lid to the garbage bin in the corner of the kitchen and paused. At the bottom of the bin were several empty greenish bottles. Her normally smooth brow creased, and she threw the wadded napkins on top of them.

Everything tidied she drew a deep breath. She stood in the threshold between the kitchen and den and watched Giles. He was frowning wickedly at an intricately carved trunk situated in the corner of the room. It looked deep and wide, and she wondered what he kept in there. He must have felt her presence, because he quickly looked up at her.

His lush lower lip curved into a smile, but his brow was still worried. She smothered the urge to run a soothing hand over it. "I suppose you are wondering why I'm telling you this?" Giles tactfully remained silent. She walked to the arm of the couch, looking down at him. "Buffy was deeply hurt by what she perceived as her father's disappointment in her. The only thing that lessened the blow was you. I admit, I was jealous at first, and resentful of the danger you put her in." Joyce's eyes flickered wintery, but he didn't look away. He would not apologize for Buffy's calling and his part in it. "But you gave her purpose. And—" Joyce dipped her chin in shame. "You understood her when I didn't." She sat beside him, dropping her hand onto his knee. Startled he shifted, but didn't move away. "She thinks of you like a father now." Giles couldn't help, but to remember how touched he had been when Buffy asked him to walk her down the isle. Of course, that was before he remembered it was all a spell, but the sentiment was the same. Her desire for filial connections had nothing to do with Willow's will. Joyce's fingers tightened on his knee, and he found himself unable to look away from her pale blue eyes. "Don't let her think she's disappointed you too."

Giles drew back, deeply wounded. "Joyce I—"

"This baby is going to happen," she cut him off in a curt clip. "Buffy is going to keep it. And you are going to be supportive. I don't care about your hang ups with Spike. That's for you and him to work out. But Buffy doesn't need any end-of-the-world bullshit right now. And I will _not_, absolutely will _not_, have you telling her that she's giving birth to a monster. Are we clear, Rupert?" Her fingernails were digging into his kneecap and her words were being spit out from behind straight white teeth. Something raw and angry roared in Giles' chest. He wrapped his strong fingers around her wrist, almost immediately loosening his grip when he felt the delicacy of her bones beneath his hand. He pulled her forward, so their noses were nearly touching. She gasped and he smelled mint.

"Buffy has my everlasting love and support. I would never abandon her, Joycie. Never." He held her there, his gaze drawn to the pink curve of her mouth. She was a luscious, striking woman. How that rotter ever let her go he had no idea. She nodded slowly and withdrew. Reluctantly, he watched as she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and smoothed out her skirt. He stood, walking her to the door.

"Thank you for coming by."

"Of course, thank you for having me." The order of courtesy reigned yet again. He opened the door and she stepped into the sunlight. She paused, and he could see indecision in the straight lines of her shoulders. She turned back and he braced himself.

"Rupert…near the end Hank drank_. A lot_. It wasn't very pretty. There were things he said—did—nothing unconscionable mind you, but he became less of a man in my eyes. I would hate for something like that to occur a second time. For Buffy's sake."

Giles stood at the door a long time after she walked away.

Later that afternoon, Joyce had an unexpected visitor at the gallery. She was in the backroom tracking inventory when she heard the front door bell jangle along with a litany of curses. She walked out to see Spike stamping out his blanket. She glanced around, relieved to see no one else in the gallery. She took a deep breath to stiffen her resolve. She didn't know much about Spike's feelings about the baby other than he expressed a desire to have it. For what purpose remained to be seen. Joyce wasn't fully aware of the motivations of vampires. She could only judge people by their actions. He looked up, honing in on her without having to glance around. His intensity was like a thump in the chest. He was strikingly handsome, and she could see why her daughter was in chaos over the man. A beautiful man was never a good thing, but they sure were hard to resist.

"Spike," she greeted coolly.

"Joyce." He dipped his head politely.

"Looking for something in particular? Something Avant Garde? Or perhaps more surrealist?"

Spike looked at her warily. "'m more of a expressionist, kinda bloke."

She circled around to the counter, her head held high. "Expressionism needs to have a solid foundation."

Spike leaned straight-armed on the counter, refusing to back away. "Foundations can be built."

"You can't put the cart before the horse." _Mix your metaphors much, Joyce?_ She mentally sighed to herself. Parenthood was supposed to get easier the older your children got. _Shyeah._

"Sometimes you gotta back that stubborn mule up the cart."

"Are you calling my daughter a mule?"

"Are you calling her a horse?"

Silence lengthened. Finally, Spike backed down with a sigh. "Look. I don't love your daughter, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? How can I? I barely know her. We barely know each other."

"Well that certainly didn't stop you from fathering a child on her."

"It takes two to tango," he snapped. How was it that Buffy came out as the victim in all this? Sure, he was an evil, rampaging vampire who had done some pretty bad things in his time, but he hadn't done this. _Had he?_ Fuck. He had no idea what _this _was.

Two bright red spots formed on Joyce's cheeks, and Spike felt his chest tighten. He dropped his head between his arms. This wasn't going as planned.

"Like I said, I don't know her. But I want to." He looked up, his blue eyes glittering. "I want to know her and the Li'l Bit. I want to be apart of their lives. An' no matter how stubborn you Summers women are goin' to be, I won't be run off. I'm not some weak-willed wanker that can be chased off with a harsh word and a rolled up newspaper to the nose. 'm in for the long haul, whether you two like it or not."

"Why?" Long haul guy? That seemed vaguely ominous. Not in an evil sort of way, but in a 'until death do us part' kind of way. Joyce couldn't help but to think of Angel. A few well placed words and deep soul-searching looks from her and he was more than happy to trot his way out of Buffy's life. _Test failed_. This man however seemed to think a crowbar and TNT couldn't pry him away.

"What?" Spike was taken aback. Her tone wasn't harsh, but it was straightforward. The searching look she was giving him made him uncomfortable. It made him think that if he had a soul she would be scouring it. If she was looking for imperfections then she'd better brace herself. All he was were imperfections.

"If you don't love her, then why stick around?"

"You tryin' to get one over on me?" Joyce stared at him without blinking. He realized, she truly didn't understand. No one seemed to. He was a soulless, evil monster, right? Completely and utterly incapable of the finer emotions such as love and compassion. Well, maybe it was true. But he sure has hell knew how to protect and care for something. They at least had to concede on that point, the hypocritical wankers. "She's goin' to have my baby. I'd never leave my child or her mother unprotected. Do ya know how dangerous this world is? I may not love Buffy now, I may not love her ever, but I do love our Bit. I'll do right by them. Give 'em every thing I can. Whatever it takes to see 'em happy and safe. My right as a father, innit? As a parent?"

"You say that now." Joyce watched him appraisingly. His words weren't flowery, but they were honest. It was a trait she wasn't used to in a man. She wasn't certain what to think.

"It's non-negotiable." Spike sliced his hand decisively through the air. "I know some human gits run out on their sprogs. And yah, I've got my faults. Vampire, here. Evil. But I'm nuthin' if not loyal. I'll never do another evil thing. Well, not the big evils like killin' people and what not. I'll even bag it till the day I dust if I have to. Whether, I've the chip or not. I'm willin' to do what it takes to be in my baby's life."

Joyce didn't understand much of what Spike was saying, and she didn't know anything about chips, but she did believe him. Spike was willing to go against his very nature just for the privilege of being in his baby's life. It was unfair to demand he love Buffy, just as it was unfair to demand Buffy love him. Love could grow. Until then the cart would have to come before the horse. However, that didn't mean it couldn't be helped along.

"Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?"

Spike shifted, the intensity in his aspect replaced with self-doubt. "I don't think—I just wanted—"

"What?" Joyce prodded.

"I was jus' hoping you could tell me how Buffy's doin'? If she needed anythin'. I've got a fair bit of dosh coming in and—"

"I thought you wanted to be apart of their lives?" Joyce cut in coolly.

"I do!"

"Well, that means more than just money," Joyce pointed out sternly in her best mothering voice and Spike flinched.

"That's all well and good, 'cept Buffy made it pretty clear she doesn't want me around."

"I guess we'll just have to muddy the waters, won't we? Dinner is at six. I expect you to be there on time." Joyce turned on her heel to return to the back room, not wanting to give him the time to back out.

"Joyce." She wouldn't have turned around if his tone hadn't been so pained. He was standing near the counter, looking as if he was crumpling under an invisible weight. He kept his profile to her, but she could see a flash of blue from one eye. "She's goin' to keep it, then?" He sounded like he was begging, and it made the soft spot she had for him go gooey.

"Why don't you ask her tonight?" she told him softly. He ducked his head, his brow creased.

She went back to work, and when she heard the bell over the front door jingle, she hummed a little tune.

Buffy heard the doorbell followed by the soft drone of voices. She slept most of the day and was still feeling fuzzy around the edges. No one told her pregnancy could be so exhausting, even as early on as this. She tucked her uncombed hair behind her ears and a quick glance down at her peach colored sweat pants and her worn Razorback sweatshirt showed everything important was covered. She slowly thumped down the stairs to see who was visiting. Half way down she glance up and jerked to a stop. Spike was standing just inside the door dressed in loose dark trousers and a navy button down shirt. His hair was slicked back and his cheeks looked like cut glass in the low yellow lamplight. He looked up at her, his blue eyes glittering with predatory intensity. _Damn, he's dead sexy._ Buffy stiffened as the thought came out of left field. Worse, she felt her panties dampen. _What the hell?_ Buffy was as horny as the next girl, but she wasn't _that_ horny. Usually something had to _happen_ to get her that wet that fast. Spike's nostrils flared, and his scarred eyebrow lifted. He absolutely could not smell her. Could he?

"What's he doing here?" she hissed between tightly clamped teeth. Her mother turned around, a bouquet of carnations and daisies in her hand.

"Spike's our guest for dinner."

"No, he is not," Buffy bit out neatly. "Get out," she directed at Spike.

"Buffy Anne Summers this is my house and I say who will be a guest in it. Go upstairs and make yourself presentable." Buffy drew back as if slapped. Her mother raised her to be polite, but Joyce almost exclusively deferred to Buffy in slayer matters, ie: vampires.

"He's a vampire, mom."

"I know exactly who and what he is." Joyce's precise clip indicated knowledge of a depth to Spike that went beyond his animal nature. It made Buffy pale. A vampire was the father of her child. _Oh, God. How could've it happened? _The world ceased to make sense. No matter how many times she tried to wrap her mind around the idea as Spike as the father of her child, she couldn't. How could she? _Stupid magical rings. Stupid Hellmouth. Stupid…whatever did this!_ Her mother pointed to the top of the stairs. "Now." Her tone wasn't to be rebuked, and the little girl in Buffy was hardwired to obey. Shooting one last glare at Spike, she turned and slowly trudged back up the stairs.

Joyce waited until Buffy disappeared before turning to Spike with an apologetic smile. "Won't you sit down?" She indicated the couch. Spike politely sat, remembering the last time he was here, he'd sprawled inelegantly in the armchair. "I need to finish up some things in the kitchen."

"Need some help?" Spike perked up.

"No, thank you, dear. Buffy will be down in a moment to keep you company." She walked out and Spike flung his arm over the back of the couch, huffing. Yah, he knew Buffy better than Joyce did. There was no way she was going to be back down anytime soon. He took out his lighter, flicking it open and closed rhythmically as he waited. And waited. And waited.

"You're obnoxious."

Spike glanced up. She was dressed in beige trousers with a razor sharp crease and a soft looking white turtleneck. Her tight bun enhanced the dark bags under her eyes and hollowed out cheekbones. She was trying to look as unappealing as possible, without realizing how appealing it made her. Vampires did love the chase. She paused on the bottom step, refusing to come any nearer to him. He lounged deeper into the couch, his eyes heavy lidded. He flicked the lighter one. more. time.

"Knock it off."

"Knock wot off, pet?" His East End accent deepened.

"That clicking is annoying."

His smile spread slow and easy. She shifted, pressing her thighs together. "Gotta do sumthin' with my hands."

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure how that could be an innuendo, but he sure made it sound like one. "Put them in your pockets and leave them there," she spat. His smile grew and he slouched down on the couch to slip his hands into his front pockets and the loose material stretched tight over his crotch. She wrinkled her nose. He was just trying to goad her, and she was letting him. She turned away to examine some childhood photos of her on the wall. The silence between them was deafening.

"So Anne, huh? I like it."

"Shut up."

Spike huffed and scowled at the back of her head. Stupid bint couldn't even take a compliment from him.

"Dinner's ready," Joyce called from the dinning area.

"Thank god," they both sighed. Spike flashed in front of her, nearly startling her off balance. He offered his arm, but she just scowled and walked around him. She took a deep breath to berate him and immediately bolted for the downstairs bathroom, slamming the door in her wake. Spike was staring after her in bewilderment, when Joyce came to investigate the noise. They both stood in the hall while Buffy wretched.

"What's that all about?" Spike asked nervously.

"Morning sickness." Joyce led him to the dinning room, knowing her daughter wouldn't want them listening in on something she would find humiliating.

Spike shot her a confused glance. "Shouldn't it be in the morning, then?"

Joyce chuckled. "Hardly. It's usually smells that set it off. Least it was for me. Seems to be that way for Buffy too. So far its cooked eggs and refrigerator smells. Oh, and her skin lotion. We're going to have to find a new one she can tolerate. She'll need to keep her skin hydrated."

She sat him down at the table set with white linens and plain china and began to spoon heaping forkfuls of spaghetti and salad onto plates. They were waiting to get started when Buffy came out looking pale and glassy eyed. She sat down as far as possible from Spike, making him want to snarl at her. They ate in silence, even Joyce daunted by the tension in the room. Couldn't she just be civil for an hour? How were they supposed to raise a child if they couldn't even be in the same room together? His fingers tightened on his fork. His appetite fled and he didn't know if he could force another bite down his tight gullet. Joyce said he should ask her if she was keeping the baby. This whole ridiculous tableau might be completely unnecessary if they weren't going to be parents. His stomach clenched. Spike dropped his fork with a clatter, startling the two women.

"Are you keeping it or what?" he asked baldly.

Joyce rolled her eyes and started to clear the table. She wasn't done with her food, but clearly dinner was over.

"That's none of your business," Buffy spat. Joyce cringed and disappeared into the kitchen to find the Excedrin.

He slammed his hand on the table and the china rattled. "Of course, it's my business. 'm the father. I need to know how much dosh it's gonna cost me whether you keep it or flush it," he snarled with as much venom he could muster.

Red spots flared on Buffy's cheeks, the only color in her otherwise pale face. She sprang up from her seat and the straight-backed chair fell over with a clatter. "I don't need any money from you. I'll take care of it myself."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, what it means. I'll take care of it."

In one smooth motion, Spike leapt over the table without disturbing the china. He landed besides her, grabbing her narrow shoulders. God, he wanted to shake her until her brains rattled.

"Take care of it how, you bint? 'm I gonna be a da or not?"

"Get away from me." She slammed the backs of her hands into the insides of his wrists, forcing his hands off her shoulders. "No matter what, you aren't the father!"

"Enough!" Joyce roared. She was standing just inside the doorway, her fists on her hips. Buffy looked rebellious, then nauseous. She quickly bent over at the waist and threw up in the potted palm in the corner of the room. Spike went from furious to concerned in a heartbeat. He bent down beside her, rubbing small circles over her back. She leaned into him, exhausted and in need of any physical comfort she could get. When nothing more would came up, she pulled away from Spike and fled to the kitchen.

"Stay." Joyce pointed to the table, before chasing after her daughter. Feeling like a complete pillock, Spike sat. He cleared a space with a slow sweep of his arm, and banged his forehead on the table.

Joyce caught up to Buffy who was rinsing her mouth out with cold water at the sink.

"Buffy, I know you are under a lot of stress."

"You have no idea," Buffy snarled.

"You know what? Grow up! You're being a brat." Buffy gasped at her mother, too shocked to realize water was running down her chin. Joyce tore off a paper towel and handed it to her. "You are going to be a mother soon, and you need to start acting like it. One of the things a mother does is put the welfare of her child before own."

"I'm doing that." Didn't her mother see? Vampires, even ones claiming to be daddy, were not good things for children. 'Cause, you know. The blood drinking and swearing and all.

"By running off the father of your child? Don't you think they should have a relationship?" Buffy thought about her own nearly nonexistent financial based relationship with her father. It made Spike's words sting all the more.

"He doesn't care." She flung her hand towards the dining room. "All he wants to know is how much money he's gonna have to shell out." Belatedly, she wondered if this had less to do with Spike being a vampire and more with him being a man. Not that she was a man-hater. She wasn't. She liked men. She'd like them even more if they stuck around.

"Buffy, if that were true, he would have skipped town as soon as he found out. He certainly wouldn't be here with _you_." The way her mother said 'you' made Buffy feel like a worm. Worse, her mother had a point. Even with the chip, there was no reason for Spike to be here, in her dining room, in her _life_, if he didn't want to. She narrowed her eyes.

"He's dangerous." She could never forget who he was. What he was. Slayer of Slayers.

Joyce nodded, soothing her hands down Buffy's arms. "That may be so, but I don't think he's dangerous to you or the baby."

Buffy's instinct to protest was instantaneous. "Did you see him in there? He grabbed me!"

"Grabbed you? I think I might have smacked the crap out of you!" Buffy's head snapped back at her mother's language. It pulled her from her mental rumblings and made her focus entirely on her mother's words. "You're practically torturing him. Just tell him, already." Joyce put her hand on Buffy's shoulder, leaning in so their foreheads touched. Buffy relaxed under her mother's influence. Was this what being a mother meant? Curbing your kid's insanity when they were going off the rails? "Let him in, Buffy. Get to know him. Get to know each other. Try to at least be civil. Because no matter how you feel about each other, this child will bind you together for the rest of your lives. And you have to do what's best for her." Buffy felt something ghost over her, and she shivered. Her mother sounded so tired. The kind of tired that comes from the sadness and experiences of being a single mother.

Buffy nodded against her mother's forehead. She needed to get hormonal Buffy under control before she nuked the west coast. Slayer plus pregnancy hormones equaled nothing good. Joyce kissed her cheek and told her to go out to the den. Spike joined her a few moments later. His hands were tucked in his pockets, his face turned aside. She could see a muscle jump in his lean cheek as he clenched his jaw. She sighed inwardly, and scooted over on the couch in a silent invitation for him to sit with her. He sat at the far edge, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands loosely clasped. His shoulders were hunched defensively, and she had the insane urge to run her hand down his back to soothe the tension from his muscles. She was so entranced with the idea she almost didn't hear him speak.

"'m sorry."

"What?" Her fingers curled until she could feel her nails cut her palm. He continued to stare at his hands.

"I shouldn't of put my hands on you like that. I upset you. An' the Nibblet. Made you sick. 'm sorry."

"Oh, no." Almost with out thinking she flattened the palm of her hand between the wings of his shoulders. He tensed under her touch and she pulled away. "That's not why I got sick."

His eyes glittered blue under his dark lashes as he flashed her a questioning look, before studiously turning back to his hands. "You smell."

"I smell?" He straightened, his lips parted in affront.

Mortified, she hid her nose and mouth behind her hands, peeking at him from over her fingertips. "No! I mean. A little. It's the cigarette smoke and maybe your hair gel," she told him almost apologetically. Horrified, he tried to scoot further away from her. "I'm sorry!" she whined. Buffy felt awful. If someone told her that she smelled she would be humiliated.

He shot her a wry grin. "Not your fault, pet." He fidgeted a moment, shooting her quick, nervous glances. "Does this mean I should give up smoking?" he asked tentatively.

She studied him. He looked young and uncertain. He was at the very edge of the couch trying to protect her from his own scent. He was trying too hard. For what she wasn't certain. She did know that if the baby had been Parker's this conversation wouldn't be happening. He would have denied it was even his. Spike on the other hand seemed bound and determined to shout it from the rooftops. Giles told her it was because it would increase his reputation. How, she wasn't sure. Maybe being the only vampire with a living child? Still. It didn't seem likely. A mortal child would be more of a weakness than a strength to be flaunted. Which could only mean Spike wanted the child for itself. Because he…loved it? That didn't seem possible. Vampires couldn't love. Maybe she was reading too much into this. Maybe all Spike wanted was to be apart of something greater than himself. As a vampire he would have been resigned long ago to never having a real baby. Not another vampire he sired, but an actual living child. Maybe this was all an experiment to him? Something he would get bored of eventually. Although, if Spike had proven one thing, it was that he was steadfast in his devotions. He remained loyal to Drusilla for over a hundred years. Could he remain devoted to their child just as long?

The silence stretched and she thought he was going to fray apart at the edges. White brackets slashed his cheeks as he pressed his lips together to keep from demanding an answer from her.

"Yeah. Second hand smoke is bad for babies."

The smile that wreathed his face was magical. She couldn't help but to stare at it in awe. She had never seen such happiness before. It was disconcerting to realize she was the cause. He reached over like he was going to hug her, but quickly pulled away, and she had to tamp down her disappointment.

"Thank you, luv." His baritone voice was deep and rich, infused with intense pleasure. It made her feel like she had just gifted him the world. Maybe in his eyes, she had.

"Excellent." Joyce clapped, appearing from the next room where she'd been shamelessly eavesdropping. "Buffy has a doctor's appointment tomorrow at six. It was the latest appointment I could get. You'll drive her, Spike." It wasn't a request.

Buffy rounded her panicked eyes on her mother, waving her hands in dismay. "Uh, mom. I don't think that's necessary."

"Yes. I will take her," Spike agreed unequivocally. Buffy stilled. The determined devotion in his deep blue eyes stunned her to silence. She nodded and he gifted her with a tight smile. He stood up to take Joyce's hand, placing a light kiss on the back of her wrist. "Thank you ever so for dinner, Joyce. It was delicious. I should go. I have a lot of things to do before tomorrow."

"Like what?" Buffy tilted her head quizzically. Spike returned her question with a wide smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow, luv."

He let himself out, leaving Buffy to bemusedly flick the curtains aside so she could watch him practically skip down the walk to his car. When he was dangerous he was desirable. When he was boyish and happy he was irresistible. She sighed and watched the black Desoto pull away from the curb.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS in any way. It belongs to Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: There's some clinical nonsense in this chapter. This should be very familiar to any of you who've had a prenatal check up. It's all very cookie cutter.

I hope you are all enjoying the story so far!

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Five

The Desoto was immaculate. The entire interior had been detailed, and hinted at a slight chemical smell that made Buffy frown, but her stomach didn't protest. She carefully slid inside, surreptitiously checking the soles of her shoes to make sure she didn't have any mud on them. Spike shut her door and hurried to the driver's side to slide in. He was in his usual dress of black jeans and tee with a red over shirt and his duster. All of which smelled freshly dry-cleaned. She slyly leaned in to take a whiff, relieved when no scent of cigarette smoke lingered.

"Yah, it was a real bitch to get out." He grinned at her, knowing exactly what she was up too.

She ducked her head at being caught. "So you quit smoking?"

He pulled his duster and over shirt off his shoulder, so she could see the nude colored patches peeking out from under the sleeve of his tee. His bicep flexed, and she felt something tingle between her legs.

"Three?" She raised a brow.

"Four," he confirmed. "Takes a bit more with vamps. Good news is I'll be weaned by next week."

"Go vamp healing," she approved and he chuckled in agreement. He tossed his head back, and she noticed a soft white curl brush his forehead. No hair product. He looked good with loose curls. White-gold hair, alabaster skin, cut marble body. He was a fallen angel. Desire gushed at her center, and she had to press her thighs together, suddenly mortified she was going to stain his seats.

His head whipped towards her, his black pupils dilated. She pressed herself into the door, hoping she could disappear. Still watching her with predatory intensity, he leaned towards her. Just when she thought he was going to _what?-kiss her? murder her?_-he reached passed her and depressed the door lock.

"Don't want you to get away." His voice was low and silky, like he was hunting. Every nerve in her body screamed 'vampire!' and her muscles trembled with the strain of staying perfectly still. He stayed poised over her, his arm barred across her body, close enough to feel her warmth. He inhaled and his nostrils flared delicately. His pupils were black with just the thinnest band of blue. Slowly, he shifted away to start the car. She exhaled in a rush. Now she knew what it was like for the plump little rabbit cowering in the shadow of the wolf.

Nervous, she glanced around the interior of the car. As he pulled away from the curb, he noticed her glancing into the back seat. "It's an old car," he said almost apologetically.

"Yeah." She gave him the 'and your point' face.

He shrugged sheepishly. "It doesn't have those tab things for car seats."

She glanced again, noting the original leather was in excellent condition. "I don't think you'd want a kid in here anyways. They're little oinkers."

He laughed, a surprised gust of air between parted lips. She'd never heard him laugh like that before. It was sexy.

"I'm gonna get a new car. One with all those safeties."

She leaned back in the seat, rapping her fingers along the doorframe where it met the window. "Can you afford that?"

A muscle jumped in his cheek, and she wondered if she insulted him. He had a gorgeous profile. A sharp nose, full lips, high cheekbones. He almost made her jealous.

"I'll have it by the time the li'l nibblet gets here."

Her chest tightened. He was making a lot of sacrifices. Things she would have expected a happy husband, eager to start a family to do, not a man caught up with the consequences of a one night stand. A one night stand neither of them remember and shouldn't have been fruitful in the first place. She wondered how Angel would have reacted if it was him. She imagined he would have been ploddingly thoughtful, soulful even in his understanding of her plight. That's how Angel would have viewed her pregnancy. A plight. A dilemma that _she _needed to overcome. The pregnancy would have been her problem, alone. Unlike Spike who lobbied so desperately for her to keep the child, Angel wouldn't have voiced an opinion on whether or not she should keep the baby. He would have left all the decisions up to her, and left her alone with consequences. She wasn't even certain he'd put aside his redemption to stay and raise their child or just send monthly support checks. He didn't stay for her, why would he for a kid? She rubbed the hollow between her breasts and looked out the window. They were turning off Main Street, heading up Holly Lane towards the clinic. They'd be there soon.

"Don't get rid of your car," she told him softly.

"Why would I do that? A man's gotta have a nice ride when he's not chauffeuring around the sprogs." He tossed her an unrepentant grin that made her laugh in response. Her bad mood was suddenly lifted. He smoothly pulled the car into an empty spot and hurried around to get the door for her. She wasn't an invalid, but she knew it was important to him. Besides, she thought woefully, it was good practice for when she _was_ too fat to stand up by herself.

The room was cramped, most of the space taken up by an adjustable bed with metal stirrups at one end. Buffy perched at the end, rudimentarily familiar with her surroundings having been burdened with doing a pap smear every year since she was fifteen. Spike stood uncomfortably at the head of the bed, as close to the door as he could get without obscuring the doorway. Buffy laughed to herself. He wanted the full daddy experience and he was going to get it.

She glanced down at the clipboard in her lap. She had answered standard questions about her diet, lead paint and the safety of her household pretty easily, but the last question had her stumped. 'Does your partner physically abuse you?' _Huh._ That was a tricky one. She glanced at Spike under the veil of her lashes. She was suddenly bombarded with flashbacks. Spike stalking her in the alleyway outside the Bronze. Spike sliding his hand down his chest while telling her weapons made him feel manly. Spike saying the most hateful words possible while standing under the midday sun.

Her speculative gaze turned to a scowl. Spike seeing the change in her expression flared his scarred brow in question. She tilted the clipboard, her finger tapping the question. Unwilling to leave the safety of the doorway, he craned his neck to look. Buffy was fascinated by the stillness that came over him, broken only by the slight ticking of the muscle in his hollow cheek. Although his face was partially averted, she couldn't miss his predatory blue eyes glittering from under the fringe of his dark lashes as he glanced towards her. Behind him the door opened, and he stepped to aside to let the intruder pass. Their eyes met for a moment, before she looked away to tick off 'no' on the questionnaire.

A small East Indian woman bustled in, her thick black hair pulled neatly into a bun and wire rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Her white coat swished against her tailored wine colored pantsuit when she walked.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Patel. You must be Ms. Summers."

"Yes. I'm Buffy. And this is my-Spike."

Dr. Patel held out her hand to each of them. When she shook Spike's hand he mumbled, "'m the father," in a way that was both proud and shy. Buffy's breath caught. He met her gaze and held it. They didn't notice the doctor start and quickly recover by taking Buffy's clipboard with barely a cursory glance.

"It says here you're about four weeks?"

Buffy gave her full attention to the doctor. "Yes, I think so. Maybe a little bit more now." They talked about menstrual cycles, which had Spike edging for the door again.

"Well, we will be able to narrow down conception date along with the estimated due date after we do a pelvic."

Spike flinched. Hard. Buffy resisted the urge to snort.

"Before we do that, do you two having any questions?" Dr. Patel pulled up her rolling stool, setting her clipboard in her lap. She waited expectantly. Buffy glanced at Spike from the corner of her eye. She imagined he had questions, but just wasn't sure what to ask. He hadn't had to worry about the idea of children in over a hundred years, and even then as a Victorian man, childbirth would not have fallen within his purview. More than likely this entire process was making him more than a little queasy. Speaking of which.

"Is morning sickness this early normal?"

"Oh, yes. And it can happen anytime. Not just in the morning."

"Yah, figured that one out myself. Is there anything I can take?"

"Well if the nausea becomes too bad there is medication, but we would rather you only take that if it's severe. Many medications can be harmful to the baby. You can try natural remedies, though. Carry peppermint candies around with you wherever you go and keep some dry crackers by your bed to snack on before you get up in the morning. Mint tea helps too, just make sure it's decaffeinated."

"I can't have caffeine?" Buffy panicked. Coffee was essential to her survival.

"One or two cups of coffee or tea a day is fine, but you shouldn't drink anymore than that. You are going to have trouble sleeping as it is. You don't want to add to it."

"Oh, right."

"Also you might start getting cravings. It's a perfectly normal way for you body to get the nutrients your needing. Although, we will be providing you with some prenatal pills today. Just alert us if your cravings are abnormal."

"What's abnormal?" Buffy thought about her weird desire for peanut butter cups with sliced avocado on top. That was pretty abnormal.

"Well, like ashes, paint chips, gravel. Anything inedible."

"Eww. Gross."

Dr. Patel laughed. "It happens. Sometimes people even crave blood or raw meat." She riffled through some papers on her clipboard, missing the exchanged glances between Spike and Buffy. "On your way out, you can pick up some literature from the RN. It will have lots of information about symptoms and cravings. Also, Lamaze and parenting classes and how to set up a tour of our prenatal facilities."

"That seems like a lot of information," Buffy mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed.

"Yes, it seems like it, but remember you've got nine months. Take your time and pace yourself. The first trimester can be the most exhausting. Your body is working hard to turn itself into a hospitable environment and that takes a lot of effort. So don't be surprised if all you want to do is nap." Dr. Patel smiled and Buffy couldn't help but smile back.

"Now, for the pelvic. Daddy did you want to step outside?" Dr. Patel looked up to see the door swinging closed. Buffy giggled.

"Skittish isn't he?"

"He just knows better. The last thing he needs to see is me in stirrups. Not if he values his un—er-life."

"Mm, yes." She motioned for Buffy to scoot down to the edge of the bed, while she readied the sonogram wand. "Did you have any other questions while he isn't here?"

Buffy slanted her a look. Dr. Patel gave her a brief, businesslike smile. "Is it normal—" Buffy struggled to word her question. Somehow saying, 'is it normal to be horny tart of a slut bag didn't seem appropriate. "To want to have sex? I mean. Like, _really _want to have sex. A lot of it." Buffy wiggled uncomfortably and frowned at the 'hang in there' kitten poster tacked to the ceiling.

"Yes, it is very common. Your hormones are working on overdrive and it's perfectly normal to feel an increased sexual drive. You may also notice some differences in your experience."

Buffy did her damnedest to ignore the cold fingers prodding her opening. "Like what?"

"Well, an increase in sexual sensitivity due to increased blood flow."

"What does that mean?" Buffy grimaced as something cool and plastic entered her.

"It means you may achieve orgasm more quickly and intensely."

"Really?" Her head popped up, eyes wide. That was food for thought. How ironic. She'd only had sex twice (that she could remember) and both those times she hadn't orgasmed. She had of course, by her own hand, but not very often. Being the slayer, she was always on the lookout, always on the prowl, it was hard for her to relax enough to enjoy herself even the tiniest bit. Maybe this was an opportunity she needed to take advantage of. It certainly explained the naughty feelings she was getting whenever she was in the same room with Spike.

"Well, good news. You're pregnant."

Buffy fought the urge to roll her eyes. Yah, that she knew without a doubt, even before she tested herself. Everything else was a pea soup toss up, but at least she knew for sure she was preggers. Dr. Patel angled a monitor towards her. All she saw was a black and white Doppler looking thing. Dr. Patel pointed to a gummy bear floating in the center of the screen. "There's your baby."

"Oh." Buffy caught her breath. "Wow." The whole world became a tiny point of light in the center of her chest. There she was. Her baby. Buffy had to cover her mouth with her hands her grin was so big. Dr. Patel smiled with her.

"Congratulations, mommy."

"I'm going to be a mommy," Buffy whispered in an awed voice. Dr. Patel nodded and printed out some pictures for her to take with her. After Ms. Summers was shuffled off to the RN to make future appointments and gather her literature, Dr. Patel went into her office closing the door firmly. She dialed the phone, waiting patiently as it rang. "May I speak to Dr. Walsh please," she asked while flipping through Buffy Summers' file.

"Look! There she is!" Buffy pointed at the blur in the center of the sonogram. They were seated in front of the Spike's Desoto, a mess of paperwork in her lap, and him leaning over her to squint at the dot she was pointing at. He barely had time to make it out before she was holding to her chest like was a beloved pet that had just found its way home after being lost. He smiled at the image she presented. She was practically glowing. Effulgent in a sense he never understood before. All his bad poetry in the world couldn't capture her beauty. "The doctor said she'd be here around July 18th," Buffy bubbled.

Spontaneously, Spike curved two fingers around the back of her neck to pull her closer. He placed a quick kiss on her temple, taking in accents of green apple shampoo as he did. She grew rigid, and reluctantly he drew away to slide back behind the wheel. He shot her a sidelong glance, inhaling the scent of her arousal that could damn near choke a horse. He rolled down his window and started the car. She wanted him. She just didn't want to want him. Frankly, he wasn't sure if he wanted her either. Yah, during the Will Be Done spell he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her, but this wasn't a spell. This was reality. And the reality was that he barely knew Buffy. Sure, he was attracted to her. Who wouldn't be? She was fucking gorgeous with pouty kiss me lips and wide expressive eyes that let a man know when he was touching her just right. Her hair was silk and her skin was satin. He'd have to have half a nut not to want her. But it was just lust. He wanted more. He had always wanted more, even from Drusilla. He never got it of course, but it didn't stop the longing…the desire for something better in his life. The longing for purpose. The desire for love. A vampire fairytale.

He shook his head, and backed out of the parking slot. "Where to, luv?

Buffy was shuffling through her papers, organizing them by content and immediate importance. "The book store. If being a slayer has taught me anything, it's that research is a number one priority." She flashed him a smile that made him feel warm on the inside.

"Right you are."

An hour late, Spike wondered if maybe he should buy himself some books. Namely ones on how to deal with a pregnant hormonal woman.

"But the RN said I should buy this one," Buffy insisted, pointing at the paper in her hand. She was near tears, her hysterics increasing with every word.

"I'm sorry. We don't have it." The gangly, pimply-faced teenager behind the counter looked like he was about to piss himself. Although, he topped the Slayer by a good five inches, something told the boy that pissing off the woman could put him in traction.

Spike stepped up. "But you can order it, right, mate?" Spike gave the boy a hard look that made his prominent Adam's apple bob nervously.

"Yah. Totally. I mean, yes sir."

"But I want it now," Buffy whined.

"They'll put a rush on it, yeah?"

"Yes! Three days tops," the boy promised. He cringed when the woman narrowed her green eyes on him. They stood tensely in a loose isosceles triangle, the boy wanting to slink away, but held in place by his employee duties.

"Okay," Buffy said congenially, fishing in her pocket for a red and white stripped candy she had picked out of a dish at the doctors. She undid the wrapper and popped the candy in her mouth.

Spike sighed in relief, his muscles relaxing. He'd been less stressed fighting for his life. "Why don't you wait outside, while I get these wrapped up?"

"Sure thing, Spike," she agreed over her shoulder as she ambled outside.

"Wow. She's—" Spike growled and whatever the boy was going to say died a nasty death in his throat.

"Ring it up."

"Right." The boy did what he was told.

Buffy waited for Spike outside the store, huddling in her jacket. The December air was nippy enough to put color in her face, but being Southern California that was about as far as it went. No white Christmases for her. Fake greenery was wrapped around lamps and palm trees, topped with scarlet bows. Silver and gold bells were strung between the posts and some businesses had put up colored lights around their windows. The outside speakers were playing some tinny seasonal music, and instead of rolling her eyes like usual she found herself humming along. 'Tis the season, after all. She was late on her Christmas shopping this year. She still needed to pick something up for Willow and Giles. And she supposed the polite thing would be to get Spike a gift as well.

She wondered where Spike was getting his money. All this talk about getting a new car and buying a hundred dollars worth of books for her. She wasn't stupid. Getting the Desoto detailed so thoroughly would have cost a pretty penny as well. She narrowed her eyes in thought. He couldn't be mugging people. Well, maybe he could as long as he didn't hurt them. Was he sublimating his income with a little B&E? Maybe gambling? He joined her on the sidewalk and she let the thought go. She didn't want to think about it. Today was a good day.

"Baby want some hot cocoa?" he suggested, nudging her with his shoulder towards the café on the corner. The thought of warm chocolate sliding down her throat made her tummy rumble.

"Yes, baby wants!" Her laughter tinkled in harmony with the Christmas music. Spike smiled, the deep slashes along the corners of his mouth telling her it was genuine. Shoulder to shoulder they crossed the street, dodging around other pedestrians. Even at a leisurely stroll they walked at a pace most people would find exhausting. She usually had to check herself with her friends, but not with Spike. He could keep up with her. Always could.

He sat her down in a comfortable chair on the veranda at an angle that blocked any cold chills that may blow through. The cafe had a brick fire pit lit up, and screened off for safety. Buffy rested her feet on the cobblestone shelf around the pit and watched the flames dance as Spike got their drinks. He set down a large bowl shaped mug that was heaped with cloudy mounds of whipped cream. She grinned like a kid as she skimmed the thick cream with her spoon.

Spike watched her for a while, his eyes dark and heavy as he sipped on his coffee. She knew he was thinking. She could practically see the clockwork chugging away behind his eyes. He preempted her before she could call him on it.

"Wanna talk?"

"'Bout what?" She kept her eyes focused on her drink. She ate her way through a small potion of whipped cream and now she could see pools of rich brown beneath.

Spike shifted in his seat. He didn't want to give away that he overheard her and Giles in the graveyard, but at the same time he knew it was something they should talk about together. "It's gotta be scary."

Buffy's fingers tightened on the slender handle of her spoon. "The doctor said everything was normal." The silence lengthened between them. The fire popped and an orange ember died before it could escape into the night. "For now," she whispered.

Spike tensed, and he found himself unable to look at Buffy. He watched the fire instead. So beautiful. So deadly. Just like her. "Do you believe she's a monster?" His baritone voice was a rough caress. So quiet she could barely hear him. Her stomach clenched at the thought, and she dropped her spoon, suddenly not hungry for chocolate anymore. It hit her saucer with a loud clatter that made them both jump. She leaned back to watch the fire with him, her hand resting protectively over her flat abdomen.

Did she think that? Was the creature inside her a monster? Was it going to eat her from the inside out? Would it be evil in the guise of something beautiful and precious? A china doll that murdered in the night? "No," she replied forcefully, believing it with every cell in her body. She didn't know what was growing inside her, but she knew it wasn't evil. It was a miracle.

Spike's straight-lined shoulders slumped, and Buffy realized he had been waiting for her decree. He believed their child to be something precious, but he wasn't the one carrying it. He wasn't elementally connected it to it as she was. If it was evil, she would be the one to know, and it touched her that he trusted in her judgment enough to question his own.

"Why do you suppose we are so convinced that she's yours?" she asked, genuinely flummoxed at the knowledge they seemed to innately share. His dark brows slashed downwards, and a muscle ticked in the hollow of his lean jaw. "I mean, we don't remember how _it _happened. How can it even be possible?"

Spike drew his hand away from his coffee, fisting it on the tabletop. "I just know. She's mine. I feel it." From beneath his lashes, his blue eye glittered and she knew he was looking at her from the corner of his eye, as if giving her his full attention would somehow turn her ephemeral. "You believe that, don't ya, Slayer? That she's mine?"

"Oh, yeah. It's one of the few things I know for certain right now. She's yours and mine together." Spike nodded, exhaling a pent up breath. She eyed him narrowly. "You do realize that means she's magical, right?"

"Yah," Spike's tone was hushed and reflective. Magic always had consequences.

"Some demon curse laid on us," Buffy murmured resentfully, wondering if it was true.

"Or maybe a gift sent to us to protect," Spike defended. Buffy preferred his take on things, but her experiences were usually more bad than good.

"Maybe, but who'd give you something to protect? You're evil," she pointed out, wondering why he flinched at the truth. He usually boasted his evilness with a bombastic voice that could be heard for miles. Why did his evilness in this particular venue make him seem repentant?

"That's the million pound question, innit?" He slouched in his seat a little, dropping one heavy booted foot on the shelf around the fire.

"I mean. Evil generally isn't the most reliable. You could skip town any minute," Buffy recognized fear in the tenor of her voice. She wasn't talking anymore about the unknown entity that saddled them with this responsibility. She was talking with a mother's fear. He turned away from the fire and their eyes locked. Her breath caught. Spike's eyes flickered from blue to amber with barely checked ferocity.

"I will never leave. You'll have to stake me first," he vowed. She nodded mutely, unable to express in words, how much his oath meant to her. People left her. They either walked away or died, but either way the result was always the same. She fought alone, and she would die alone. But he wasn't making that vow to her, was he? He was vowing to protect their child. She was just the extra baggage.

They lapsed into silence, knowing more questions would only turn them in circles until they were inside out. All that was left to them was to wait for everything to unfold. The second shoe usually dropped right around when the shit hit the fan.

"A slayer's life is short, Spike," she confessed to her cocoa. "It's brutal and dangerous and it's no life to bring a child into. I might not be able to protect her."

He reached across the table, his cool hand covering her warmer one. His eyes flashed orange, but she couldn't be sure if it was his demon or just the firelight reflecting in their sheen. "We'll protect her together, Buffy. You and I. If we work together, nothing can get passed us. She'll be the most guarded princess this kingdom has ever seen."

His intensity should have been frightening, but she found only comfort in it. This was the type of man she needed. Not an absentee fairytale prince from another land, or a mundane peasant who could only offer her normalcy. She needed a warrior like her. Someone who could fight at her side for all the right reasons. He was evil, sure. But his loyalty was worth an elephant's weight in gold. He would fight and die for their child. That's what mattered the most. That's what mattered to her.

"Princess? Exactly how much are you planning to spoil her?"

A leisurely smile spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair. He kept his arm stretched over the table, their fingertips just barely touching. "She'll have the moon and the stars from me. I expect she'll get the sun and cloudless skies from you."

"Yah." Buffy inched her hand forward a fraction, until their fingertips slotted together. "I expect she will."

Buffy picked up her spoon and finished her cocoa while Spike stared at her as if she was as hypnotizing as the fire.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It's all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: Some of you may question Spike's surprisingly flushed status. Don't worry, his finances, much to his annoyance, will be discussed in the next chapter.

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Six

Buffy contemplated the pastry display at the campus café. She was trying to limit her caffeine and sugar intake, but it was hard when she felt like she was in a constant state of exhaustion, combined with a gnawing sense of hunger. She wanted to eat everything in sight, yet at the same time nothing appealed in the display. Pregnancy was turning out to be fickle bitch. In the end, she compromised by getting a medium mocha and a banana instead of a chocolate chip cookie.

"Hey." Startled, she nearly dropped her coffee, which would have made for a very cranky Buffy.

"Hey!" Buffy brightened at the sight of her best friend, then dulled when she remembered why they hadn't spoken in almost a week. It hadn't really been Willow's fault. Buffy was hiding out at her mom's house and hadn't been back to the dorms or attended classes. Willow called a few times when she was napping, and she admitted to being avoidy Buffy by not calling her back. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to her friend. She really, really did. But she didn't want any confrontations either.

Suddenly, Willow launched herself at her, winding her arms around Buffy's neck. Only Buffy's super slayer agility kept her from dumping her stuff over both of them. She awkwardly wrapped her arms around Willow the best she could, feeling all her tension fade away. Her friend smelled like strawberries, magic and hominess. Buffy took a deep breath and it came out a smothered sob.

"I'm sorry. Please stop being mad at me. I can't stand it when you're not talking to me. Please," Willow sobbed, her breath hot and wet on Buffy's neck.

"I'm not mad at you." Willow choked in disagreement, and Buffy felt even more guilt. "I'm really not."

Still sniffling she led her friend to an empty table, glaring at students who so much as looked at them wrong. They sat down, their chairs pulled close until their knees touched. Willow looked horrible. Red heads never cried prettily. Her usually pale skin was blotchy, her nose red and her eyes swollen from the short crying jag. She looked utterly miserable.

Buffy placed her stuff on the table and hugged her friend again, this time soothing her hands down her back. Willow was wearing something soft and fuzzy and it made Buffy smile. "I'm not mad at you, I swear I'm not," she reassured.

"B-but I did that spell. A-and you and Spike. A-and now your pregnant," Willow stuttered between sobs. Willow broke away, pawing through her book bag and finding a packet of tissues to wipe her nose. Buffy's soft smile stayed as she rubbed a comforting hand down her friend's arm.

"Sweetie, the spell had nothing to do with me being…you know."

"I know, but you were so mad the other night. And you haven't been back to our room or taking my calls. I can't help, but feel like I did this. That I made you sad."

Buffy took Willow's hands in hers. The other night at Giles' apartment was the nightmare she was trying to avoid. Her and Spike had worked out an agreement of sorts. They would attempt to get to know each outside of their normal comfort...err—uncomfort-zone. Obviously, there would be no more killing or threat of killing, unless it was totally deserved. Which in Spike's case, he deserved at least the threat of staking every time he opened his mouth. But they had called a truce for the good of their baby. That truce and the baby were at the heart of why she was being avoidy Buffy. She just didn't want to deal with everyone else's emotions, opinions, and castigations when it really wasn't any of their business. Especially when she had enough of her own to go around. Buffy's mercurial mood swing had her feeling like that Sybil chick.

"I'm not sad, Willow. I'm just…"

"Trying to deal?"

Buffy huffed in relief. No matter what, Willow got her. Sometimes they had their ups and downs, but when it came down to it they were best friends.

"Yah." Buffy's eyes darted away. "Everyone is so disappointed in me. I let them down."

"No!" Willow jerked on her hands. "That's not true. We love you. No matter what."

Buffy dropped her head, her hair falling over her face in a curtain. She lowered her head until it was nearly between her knees in the crash position, her forehead resting on top of Willow's wrists. "Maybe, but not for long," she whimpered. She was keeping the baby. Oh, god. She was keeping it and everyone was going to hate her for it.

"You're keeping it?" Willow asked tentatively, perceptive as ever. Buffy cringed, waiting for the recriminations. "So, like, I'm gonna be an auntie?" The awe in Willow's voice cracked the ice forming around Buffy's heart.

Buffy's head popped up, her eyes wide. "You're not mad? You aren't gonna tell me what a huge mistake I'm making? You aren't gonna tell me it's a monster?"

Willow surprised her by leaning forward until their foreheads touched. She placed her small hands on Buffy's hot cheeks to keep her from turning away. Their eyes locked, and Buffy gulped. "Nothing that comes from you could ever be a monster. You are the best person I know. Not just because you're the slayer, but because you're Buffy. You are gonna make an awesome mom, and your baby is going to be beautiful."

Buffy's broken heart healed itself right back up. She started crying earnestly, her forehead lodged in the crook of her best friend's neck. She felt like she had just received absolution. It was one thing to have her mother's blessing. A mother loved her child no matter what. Buffy was just beginning to understand that. The thought of disappointing her mother was scary, but not terrifying in the way it was with her friends. Her mother would always be there for her, her friends might not be. Especially, if they thought she was making an insurmountable mistake.

"We love you, Buffy. We all do," Willow murmured into her hair. She was rubbing her hands up and down Buffy's back like she was trying to sooth an overwrought child. Buffy pulled back with a small laugh. Smiling, Willow handed her tissues, glaring at her fellow students when they stared at Buffy blowing her nose.

"I'm sorry. I'm hormonal Buffy. If I'm not crying, or screaming bloody murder, then I'm upchucking my internal organs."

Willow winced. "That bad, huh?"

Buffy nodded miserably. "Yah. I have no idea how I'm supposed to 'nurture' this kid if I throw up everything I eat. I've actually lost weight," she whispered the last part, appalled when any other time she would have been ecstatic to take off an extra five pounds.

"Don't worry. I hear you gain it all back by the second trimester." Willow rubbed her hand down Buffy's arm before gathering up her book bag.

Buffy glanced at the clock, and gathered her stuff as well. Together they wound their way to class.

"You seem to know a lot," Buffy commented with a sidelong glance at Willow. The young witch turned pink at the edges.

"I've been reading," she admitted.

Buffy laughed. "Research, huh? Yah, me too."

"I sorta—" Willow trailed off. She didn't know how voice her feelings. It all seemed ambiguous. As if something was happening at the far reaches of consciousness that was shaping their reality. "I just knew you were gonna keep her. I wanted to make sure I would be a good auntie." She smiled brightly and Buffy returned it.

"You're going to be a wonderful auntie," Buffy assured as they walked arm and arm. She felt a giddy amount of happiness. Willow supported the baby. Buffy glanced at her from under her lashes. Did Willow understand fully what that meant?

"Spike's sticking around," she confessed, watching Willow's face closely.

Willow's lips tightened, and there was an edge of fear in her eyes. "For you?" she asked tightly.

Buffy thought about it. The idea of Spike changing his ways, being Mr. Caring and Supportive was romantic. Vampire or not, the idea of any man giving up everything to be with her was a romantic idea. But he wasn't doing it for her, was he?

"For the baby. She's what's important." Buffy wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. The baby was important. But then why did her heart ache when she acknowledged Spike's motivations were only driven by his need to be near their child?

Willow's brow crumpled and she looked down at her feet as she walked. She was silent for long minutes, and Buffy's nervousness ratcheted up a notch. She knew instinctively Willow was working through to a steadfast conclusion that once made wouldn't be reversible.

Outside their classroom, Willow pulled her to a halt. She wore her resolve face as their gazes met. "Spike will be a great protector." Not father. What did Spike know of being a father? What did anyone know of being a parent? But protector? Yah, Spike knew how to do that, and do it well.

"Yah," Buffy agreed.

Smiling they walked into the classroom, nearly bumping into Riley.

"Summers," he mumbled, looking uncomfortable.

"Hey, Riley," Buffy replied brightly. Willow's pronouncement put her in a good mood, and she was generous enough to share it.

He shifted his weight and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. "How's the engagement going?"

"My what?" Buffy was caught off guard. _Crap._

"You know. To that older guy?" _Double crap._

"Oh, that." What to say? _Think, Summers, think._

"It was a dare," Willow suddenly interjected. "We were playing truth or dare. Buffy got dared to tell the first person she ran into whom she knew that she was getting engaged.

"Really?" Riley asked skeptically.

"Alcohol may have been involved," Willow lied spectacularly. Buffy was dumbfounded. She may have been catching flies her jaw was so wide open. "Yah, and on that humiliating note, we'll be taking our seats." Willow hooked her hand under Buffy's elbow and towed her towards the stadium seating.

"Wow, Will. That was amazing."

"I'm not proud," the witch muttered.

"No, seriously. Can you come with me the next time I have to tell a whooper to my mom."

"No." Willow rounded on her as they found their seats. "It's unethical to lie to your mother. You should keep that in mind since you're gonna be one."

Buffy slumped into her seat. "Oh, yeah. Right." She scanned the class, her eyes colliding with the gun-metal gray gaze of her professor. The Bitch Monster of Death was looking extra deathy today. The speculative gaze of the professor ran down Buffy's frame, and she had to fight the urge to slouch further into her seat. Missing two classes was so of the bad. She didn't wonder if Professor Walsh was giving her more attention than usual as she got out her pad to take notes.

Buffy was pacing around the small den before Spike arrived. This would be their third 'date' and both previous affairs had been awkward and stilted. Most of the subjects they had in common were off the table due to unspoken mutual agreement. Neither of them thought it prudent to talk about their past lovers or their affinity for trying to kill each other. Pressure from Joyce, and Spike's desire to be involved his baby's development added a new level of strain to their already nonexistent relationship. Frankly, after updates on the baby front had been exhausted they ended up just pushing their food around their plates until it was time to leave the restaurant.

Buffy had no idea why they were participating in this farce. It wasn't like they were going to be a couple. Just because they were going to have a baby together didn't mean they were going to be indivisibly exclusive in each other's lives. They only had to get along comfortably enough to share custody. All this pressure to get to know each other was giving her tension headaches. Adding to it was Buffy's underlying need to slay something. Or lay something. _No! Bad tarty Buffy. Bad! _She needed to slay, not lay. Buffy bounced on the balls of her feet. She had been a good little girl, and a very bad slayer lately. She hadn't slayed anything in over two weeks. She was about to ping pong off the freakin' walls!

A shiver slid down the back of her neck, and she hurried to the door, jerking it open. Dusk was just falling and the shadows were blue under the fading light, running wild before the streetlights flickered on and chased them away. Spike stood on the porch, a darker, more menacing shadow than the rest. Unafraid, she twisted her hand in his shirt and yanked him inside. He was wearing the blue silk one she liked so much. She could barely contain the urge to run her hands down his chest.

"What's this, then?"

Buffy released him, and hunted down her shoes she had toed off by the couch while waiting for him. "I'm wound up. I have too much energy. I sleep all day and I'm up all night. And I've been having these weird dreams."

Spike shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on his feet a little. Buffy's anxious energy was starting to infect him. "What kinda dreams?"

"I dunno. Some little girl singing a rhyme about not being able to scream while holding a wooden box. It's giving me the wiggins. It's probably pregnancy related. Anxiety about having a kid. Stupid hormones." She swiped up a pamphlet off the coffee table and shoved it at him. "It says here I can exercise regularly through the first trimester, but my kind of workout is dangerous for the baby," she pouted, finally slumping on the couch.

"Why don't you go for a jog?" he offered, still standing by the door. This charade of them being normal was starting to fray on his nerves. The last two dates with her had been both the best and worst experiences of his life. They had been mind-numbingly normal which made the demon inside him howl with near insanity, but simultaneously they provided him a connection to the development of his baby in a way his monster couldn't comprehend. No matter how torturous the evenings were, he would keep coming back just for that.

She shot him a dirty, sidelong glance that made his skin prickle in anticipation. Ever since their blow out the first night they had been disgustingly civil to each other. She occasionally digressed into superbitch mode, but he was careful to keep his own reactions in check. He couldn't fight with her physically for fear of harming the baby, and he wasn't sure what would happen if Buffy become emotionally overwrought so he kept the snarking to a minimum. They were both wound up, and if they didn't find a way to parley their frustration and tension into some sort of activity soon they were going to explode.

"If I go out and jog, I might see something," she snarled.

Spike raised a brow. "Come again?"

She sighed and settled against the couch cushions, her fingers massaging her temple. "If I see someone getting attacked, I'll have to intervene. There's no way I'd just walk away and let someone die. It's bad enough knowing people are out there dying every night, because I'm not doing my job anymore."

She was right. It made him both angry and resigned. He wanted to lash out and order her to walk away if she ever came across someone who needed help. A stranger's life wasn't worth the risk to their child. But he knew that wasn't who Buffy was. As Heaven's Chosen One, she was hardwired to be a hero. The difference between them couldn't be more blatant. She was meant to walk in the sun while he lurked in the shadows. She saved people; he preferred to eat them. It was her wiring making her miserable at the moment. She was a creature who needed to run free, not be caged up by conformity. Finally, this was something he could understand about her.

"Why don't you get changed? We'll jog together."

She looked at him, her green eyes cool and assessing. "And if we come across someone?"

"I'll take care of it," he assured her, his dark eyes daring her to say differently.

"What about your chip?"

He shifted. He didn't know why he hadn't told her about his chip sooner. Honestly, it hadn't really come up. It was forbidden topic adjacent. "It doesn't work on demons, luv. Jus' humans."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "How did you find that out?"

"Pub brawl." He grinned unrepentantly.

She rolled her eyes, but didn't take another moment to reconsider. She jumped off the couch and headed for the stairs. "Be down in a sec."

"'m gonna get a change of clothes out of the car."

She nodded, but didn't pause in her headlong gallop up the stairs. Finally, she was going to get some action!

Spike was waiting for her, dressed in jeans and his duster when she came down the stairs. She was a vision in peach velour sweats with white stripes down the legs and a matching hoodie. She streaked passed him, laughing out the door. "Catch me if you can, vampire!"

He grinned and leapt down the porch steps in one bound as he chased after her. They were fast, a streak of peach being stalked by an amorphous shadow as they raced down the side of the darkened street. By instinct they veered into Shady Rest cemetery, hurdling over gravestones and doing handsprings off tombs. Buffy's laughter trailed behind her, and Spike was able to track her by the exultant sound alone. She ran by a fresh grave, and a fledgling burst through the loose dirt. She leapt agilely to the side, but before she could wield her stake, Spike was on top of the vamp, dusting it before they fell to the ground.

Crouched at her feet, the tails of his duster spread behind him Spike was evil incarnate as he looked up at her with yellow eyes. He ran the tip of his tongue along a fang. "Gonna get'cha, little girl," he promised wickedly. Buffy's eyes widened, and she sheathed her stake. She whirled away, streaking into the night, Spike hot on her heels.

Now he was tracking her by the scent of her arousal. It was redolent in the air, and he was almost afraid it would call other demons to her. He burst forward with extra speed, but she wasn't prey to be brought down easily. She led him into the older section of the cemetery overgrown with bracken and the overcrowded mausoleums narrowed the labyrinthine paths. She was smaller than him, able to twine herself around obstacles with effortless agility. Frustrated, when he smacked his head on a low hanging eve, he leapt onto the rooftops, tracking her from above. He bounded from roof to roof, his duster billowing behind him, keeping her in sight as she weaved her way in and out of the tombs and statuary.

An area widened into a tiny quadrangle, bordered by family tombs. He pushed off from the roof, flying through the air over her head. He landed in front of her with a growl. She squeaked, her momentum carrying her into him. He gripped her underarms when she would have bounced off on impact. He used the motion to push her up against the cool, stone wall behind her, capturing her mouth in a reckless kiss.

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to him. Her body temperature was elevated from the run, and it felt like he was holding living flame in his arms. He edged his knee between her legs, firmly situating his muscular thigh against her. She was soaking wet, dampening his jeans. She moaned, and writhed against him, rocking urgently against his thigh. He kissed his way down the column of her throat, finding the hum of her pulse beneath her ear and sucking her satiny skin between his lips. His gums ached and he desperately wished he could sink his fangs into her vein and drink her in. To taste her, to savor her, to be connected to her in a way that was elemental. He dipped his hands under her top, bracketing her rib cage in his palms. His fingers spread along her back, greedily trying to feel every inch of her. His thumbs toyed with the elastic edge of her sports bra, as he slowly slid his palms upwards.

She was writhing desperately against him, and he gradually became aware something was happening. Something that didn't really require his participation. He stilled against her as she panted into his mouth, her thighs clutching at the leg she was riding. Suddenly she stiffened, her back arching away from the tomb as she released a keening whine. They were very still within each other's arms for a long moment. Crickets chirped around them, and in the distance a dog barked. Slowly, Spike leaned away to look down at her. She refused to look at him, covering her hot face with her hands instead.

"'s that normal?"

She shook her head, and mumbled something into her hands.

"What was that, luv?" He tried to angle himself so he could see passed her hands, but she hunched her shoulders. Sighing, he gently took her wrists and pulled her hands down. She allowed her hands to drop, but she focused her gaze to some unknown point over his shoulder.

"The doctor said I'd be more sensitive," she rushed out.

"So that's not normal?"

"No!" she spat. "I hardly ever—" she trailed off, mortified at what she was about to reveal.

Spike's scarred brow shot upwards. "Hardly ever?"

"It's none of your business, alright." Her lips were set in a mutinous line and her body language was dead set on pushing him away. He didn't allow it. "I'm gonna go home now. We worked out all the kinks, and I'm gonna try to get some sleep."

He braced his hands on either side of her, refusing to let her escape. He leaned forward with a long, exaggerated sniff. "Oh, I don't think we've worked out _all_ the kinks."

She stiffened. He could smell her. Dammit! She shoved at his chest, but her action was half hearted. They both knew if she wanted him moved, he would be buried in the wall across the quad. His smile was slow and wicked, making her horny and irritated at the same time.

"Don't get too cocky, vamp boy. At this point a stiff breeze gets me worked up. I'm so horny I'm giving serious thoughts to tarting myself out to the Oakland Raiders." Seriously, Buffy had been having some hardcore porn fantasies lately. She was suddenly having dreams in Technicolor of things she wasn't even sure was legal in some states. The last three mornings she had woken up to orgasms, and this afternoon she almost came when she leaned against the rumbling clothes washer to get the fabric softener. Something was clearly wrong with her. "They might not even do it for me," she added despairingly. Who knew that Buffy Summers was a closet hussy?

"Wanna go back to my place?" Spike offered seductively. He was never so happy to have a place sorted out. He'd move into the fifth story flat overlooking the river earlier that week. It was fairly posh if he said so himself. Tricked out enough to impress a woman like Buffy, but safe enough for their sprog to roam around when she arrived. He tried not to give too much thought as to why having Buffy writhing and moaning beneath him excited him so much. Why he so desperately wanted to possess her.

Buffy almost leapt on that bandwagon. Because hot damn, Spike was sexy, and the way he kept curling his tongue behind the edge of his teeth made her think he knew exactly what to do with it to make a woman scream. Instead, she shoved at his chest, this time hard enough to back him up a couple of steps.

"Why would I want to do that? I can get sex from anyone I want. A nice normal guy instead of the slobbering undead."

The idea of another male putting his hands on her made him want to rip out someone's throat, _but_ only because she was the mother of his child. _Right?_ "Have anyone in mind, pet?" he asked silkily, edging towards her.

She put her hands on her hips, jutting her chin forward defiantly. "There's a guy. All big and muscly." He cocked his brow in disbelief, and Buffy was quick to add facts. "He's the TA for my psych class. He's totally in to me."

"Sweetheart, the entire male population would be daft not to be into you." He stepped closer, trailing a finger down her hip. "'sides, size doesn't matter."

She bristled under his touch. "At least he's human. That counts for something. Vampires can't compare." He shoved her back against the wall, trapping her there. Before she could protest, he had his thigh between her legs, pressed up tight against her clit. She gasped, clutching at his biceps.

"Well, lets see." He pretended to consider her statement thoughtfully. "Vampire stamina. Vampire recovery time. And, oh yeah. A hundred and twenty years of experience making women cum." He rotated his thigh in a tight circle, lifting her up onto her toes. Her head fell against the stone, a long tortured whimper echoing from the back of her throat. He nuzzled her rapid pulse just below her ear. "So, my place, then?" he offered again, his breath cool against her throat. His aching hard on begged him to take her against the stone wall of the tomb, but he wanted more than a quickie. He wanted to take his time with her. He wanted to explore her inside and out.

Buffy wasn't easy. She wasn't easy prey and she wasn't an easy lay. She threaded her fingers through his hair, gripping a handful and pulling him away from her throat. Her eyes were dark and speculative as she met his gaze.

"It would just be sex. It doesn't mean anything. I don't love you."

He started against her like she had startled him. His brow furrowed, his tone dry and humorless when he replied. "I don't love you either, pet."

Illogically, his response made her mad. "I don't even like you. I'm sure I must hate you," she spat.

"Must you?" His sigh was long and suffering. He eyed the stubborn set of her mouth, thinking about how soft it had been beneath his lips. Her hand was still tightly fisted in his hair, and his throat was angled in a way that left him vulnerable. He didn't think she knew how erotic it was to him. He gave her a dirty smile and licked the edge of his teeth. "Sex doesn't have to be about love. It can be about pleasure. C'mon, baby. Let's dance."

She wanted to ask why he wanted to. Of all the women he could get to dance with him, why her? However, to question him would be to question her desirability, something she didn't feel emotionally up to at the moment. For once it was nice to be the pursued. To be wanted by a handsome man. Vampire. Whatever. And she so desperately wanted to be touched. It may not be a fairytale romance. Hell, it wasn't even love, but it was desire, and that had its own magical allure. She slumped against him, nodding in acquiescence.

Grinning, her took her by the hand, and they raced through the graveyard, back to her house where his car was parked. He helped her in, before sliding behind the wheel. She was steeped in arousal again, and she squirmed against the seat. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, completely fascinated. He had never come across phenomena like this.

"You're really worked up, aren't ya?"

"Shut up," she grit out between clenched teeth. "Don't get used to it. I'll be back to normal after I pop this kid out." Her statement was ambiguous. He wasn't sure if she was indicating they might still have a sexual, but relatively normal relationship, after the baby was born or if she was saying the only reason she was going to have sex with him now was because her hormones were so out of whack she couldn't control herself. He wasn't sure what to think about any of it. Of course, he was a live in the now kinda vamp, so he decided to take what he could get.

"So. Do'ya think if you pressed your thighs together really tight, and squirmed a bit, you could get yourself off without your hands?" Spike leered. Buffy gaped at him mortified.

"What the hell, Spike!?"

"Try it," he coaxed in a voice that was coated in sin.

"No. I'm not going to humiliate myself in front of you." She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, and slumped down in the seat. "Maybe you should take me home."

Spike ignored her suggestion, focusing on the most important part of her statement. "Humiliate? Are you kiddin' me, luv? It would be the hottest damn thing I've ever seen in my unlife. There is nothin' humiliatin' about a woman in the throes of pleasure. C'mon, luv. Let me see how beautiful you are." His words, soft and silken, wound themselves around her. Her clit throbbed, and her thighs were sticky. She melted in the seat a little, her tightly clasped thighs putting pressure on her heavy and swollen pussy. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she knew they would be nearly black, only the thinnest band of blue around his pleasure dilated pupils. He watched her hungrily, like she was a last meal to a starving man. The intensity on his face, told her he wasn't lying. Her pleasure was beautiful to him.

She tentatively rubbed her thighs together, and the friction set something on fire inside of her. A corresponding blaze lit up in Spike's eyes. He glanced away frequently to watch the road, but she noticed how he slowed down as he navigated through the darkened city streets. She bucked her hips, using the pressure of her tightly clasped legs and her inner muscles to build on her desire. She wanted desperately to plunge her hand beneath the band of her sweatpants and tease her clit until she came, but it would be a violation of the rules. Spike wanted to see her come without using her hands. She curled her lax hand into a fist, her nails scrapping along the leather seat causing a tug of pleasure in her fingertips. She arched her hips, giving a little cry of frustration when the soft fabric of her sweats didn't provide the tension she needed. If she was wearing tight jeans, she might have been able to find the angle of pressure, but she was thwarted from finding her release.

Spike heard the tone of despair in her mewling little cries of protest. He glanced at the road, making sure it was deserted before he took one hand off the wheel. He reached over, edging his hand beneath the band of her sweatpants, and ghosting over her silky panties. Buffy's thighs fell open, and she bucked her hips in welcome. Her panties were soaking wet, making his fingers slick and he slid over them. His middle finger parted her swollen lips, and with a single firm tap to her clit he made her world explode around her. She arched off the seat, her head thrown back as a loud, tortured groan keened from her open mouth. Spike was hypnotized by the sight. She was so fucking gorgeous. He glanced back at the road, jerking the wheel when he almost took out some garbage cans aside someone's driveway.

When she came down from her pleasure high, he slipped his hand out from her pants and shakily placed both hands on the wheel. His harden cocked pressed painfully against the zipper of his tight jeans. He was afraid if he reached down to cup himself, he might spew in his jeans like a teenage boy in the girl's locker room. Thankfully, they were at his flat, and he quickly pulled into his parking spot. When he turned off the car, he twisted towards Buffy who was now covering her mortified features with her hands. He slid next to her, pulling her hands away. He didn't say anything, just cupped her face, his fingertips sliding along the underside of her jaw as he drew her up for a long, languorous kiss. He slid his tongue along hers in deep, slow caresses as if he was trying to coax all her secrets out of her. She clung onto the labels of his duster, completely and utterly in his thrall.

He drew away, so their lips hovered near each other's. He tucked a strand of honey, blonde hair behind her ear, as he stared into her green eyes. "So beautiful," he breathed and with those two words he swept away every inhabitation she ever had about the imperfections of her body. She could see the reflection of herself in Spike's eyes, and she was glorious.

He reached around her, and opened her door. The heavy, Detroit steel screeching as it swung on the hinges. Spike winced. "Need to oil that." Buffy giggled and scooted out, Spike right behind her. He held her hand as he led her to the elevator, pulling her into his arms as soon as the door closed. She wound her arms beneath his duster, placing her palms flat between his shoulder blades as they kissed. The elevator stopped and the doors were beginning to close again, before Spike realized what was happening and shot out his hand to trip the sensor. They stumbled out of the elevator, and tried to navigate the hall to his door without ending up on the floor.

He dropped his keys twice before he got the door opened, tossing them aside once they were inside. He pushed her up against the closed door, his hands trapping her wrists above her head. "Stay." He ordered, leaning back just enough so he could see her passion hazed features. Her hair was mussed around her face, the honey tips sticking to her sweat coated skin. Her lips were pink and swollen, her eyes shadowed with urgency.

He gripped the bottom of her hoodie, and drew it up over her head. She wore a white, cotton sports bra that made her golden skin glow. He wrapped his hands around the indention of her waist, just below her ribcage, his fingers spread along her back to feel every silken inch of her. Slowly he drew his hands upwards, until his thumbs edged under the elastic of her bra. He didn't watch his hands as he drew her bra upwards. He watched her face. The tip of her pink tongue darted out, sliding along her full lower lip. The action was both tentative and hungry, making something in his chest ache with corresponding feeling. He was nervous and ravenous at the same time. The elastic edge of her bra was banding her nipples, leaving the delicate underside of her breasts bared. He cupped their weight in his palms, relishing the feel of how soft and sensitive her skin was there. Hidden away from sight, even when she was naked, it was shy and untouched. She arched her back, pressing more of her flesh into the palms of his hands. Still he didn't look down, watching every flash of emotion as it flittered across her face instead.

"So fucking gorgeous." Her eyes widened, her lashes flickering gold in the soft lamplight by the door. He bent down, and traced the underside of her breasts with the tip of his tongue. Goose pimples formed up along her ribs, and he could see her nipples harden under the fabric. He tugged up her bra just a fraction of an inch and her dark pink nipples popped free. They were puckered in a wordless beg to be touched. He wanted to roll them between his fingertips, suck them deep into his mouth, but he tamped down the urge. He had all night to taste her. There was no reason to rush anything. He massaged the soft flesh of her breasts around her nipples, watching as Buffy's pulse increased at the hollow of her throat. He hooked his thumbs under the elastic, sliding his hands over the sensitive undersides of her arms as he dragged her bra over her head, and left it tangled around her wrists still pinned above her. He slid his hands back down her arms, leaning in to slick his tongue along her lower lip as he cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She bucked her hips, her teeth nipping at his lower lip with ill concealed aggression at his teasing.

He chuckled, pulling away. She tried to drop her arms around his shoulders, but he pinned them back against the door with a strong hand. "Nuh uh. Gonna eat my fill of you before I let you go." Her eyes widened, and there was a taint of fear in her scent. He looked away so she didn't see his disappointment in her reaction. He dropped to his knees in front of her, flipping the tails of his duster so it flared out on the ground behind him. He slid off her shoes, then gripped the waistband of her pants, and tugged. They slid down her legs easily, and she obediently stepped out them. She was naked, except for a pair of pink silk panties scantly covering a triangle of flesh. Leaning back on his hunches he looked up at her. She could see the glitter of his electric blue eyes beneath his dark lashes. The yellow lamplight cast shadows beneath the hard edge of his cheekbones, and his lips were swollen in a pout. As she watched, he ran his tongue along the edge of teeth, and her clit throbbed in response.

"Wonder what you taste like, pet." He leaned forward, his nose a scant inch from her dripping pussy. He inhaled, and his chest expanded. "Smell like vanilla."

She fidgeted, her entire body bowstring taut with expectation. "It's my body lotion," she offered, desperate for any connection between them. _Touch me,_ she begged silently, _please._ He cupped his hands around the curves of her body, running up her legs without actually touching her. The tiny hairs on her body stood on end, as she felt the weight of his nonexistent touch on her skin. He skimmed his hands up to her hips, and used only his forefingers to hook the thin bands of elastic to pull her panties off.

Now she was completely naked, golden and vulnerable. He was completely dressed, obscured and shadowed. The dichotomy of it didn't escape her. He rested his open hands on his thighs, leaning forward only as much as he had too. She watched, wide-eyed as his tongue darted between his lips, the tip slithering lightly against her clit. The sensation of it jolted her to the core. She rocked violently, rattling the door. She untangled her wrists from her bra and dropped her hands to her sides, pressing her sweaty palms to the cool wood behind her for extra support.

"Open up for me, luv." His cool breath tickled her hot thighs. She widened her stance, opening herself up so he could see everything. She had never been this vulnerable before. No one, not even Angel had seen her so intimately. It made her nervous, and relieved at the same time. For the first time in her life she wasn't hiding behind any barriers. She wasn't shielded physically or emotionally. She was wide open, and instead of feeling defensive, she felt overwhelmingly safe. He leaned forward again, and she braced herself.

Spike hadn't ever taken his time with a woman like this before. Sex with Drusilla had never been a slow, leisurely affair. She was a spitfire that had to be contained. She was something that had to be caught then dominated. Her pleasure could only be achieved through her painful submission. To be with her, meant he had to be stronger than her, a forceful and demanding lover. He never had the opportunity to luxuriate in her. To explore her in slow, languid strokes. Drusilla was a pale stone masterpiece. Her white, firm flesh only colored when bruised. But Buffy. She was painted in color. She was golden, tinted with pink, peach and rose. The flesh on the underside of her breasts were pale, her shoulders bronze, her inner thighs a slick, light gold, her pussy lips flushed a dark carnation.

The delicate pink tip of her clit, pushed passed her swollen lips, weeping to be touched. He flicked the tip of his tongue against it, barely enough to get a sip of her taste. She was a heady mix of vanilla, cinnamon and something exotic he couldn't place. Drusilla had been flavorless. Her undead body barely producing the secretions needed for sex. Buffy was dripping with life. It soaked her pussy and ran down her thighs. He didn't know if he could ever go back to a colorless, tasteless world again.

He lifted himself slightly off his haunches, placing his hands flat against the door on either side of her hips. He slid his hands upwards until his fingers interlocked with hers. Finally connected with her, he slicked the flat length of his tongue along her slit. She keened, pressing her pussy against his mouth. He ran his tongue along the insides of her lips, taunting her clit with teasing little flicks, and delved into her tight pussy. She fell apart around him. She wound her fingers around his hair, holding him to her. He gripped the underside of her thighs, urging her to ride his mouth. She shuddered and rocked, her upper body bowed over him as he ate her up. Her thighs quivered, and after experiencing three explosive climaxes in the last half hour, her legs could no longer hold her up. She collapsed against Spike who quickly gathered her against his chest. He looped his arms under her knees and shoulders and lifted her off the ground, striding across the room to his king-sized bed.

She sprawled across his satiny black coverlet in debauched abandonment. Her gold hair flared around her in a tousled halo, her skin glowing with the after effects of her pleasure. She lolled her head, so she could look up at Spike. He stood at the side of the bed, watching her with the quiet intensity she had learned to equate with him. Sometimes she wondered if he was even tamed. He seemed more animal than man. Languidly, she gathered her legs beneath her to kneel in front of him. She reached for his belt and the only sound in the room was the quiet snick of the leather sliding free from the buckle. She watched as every nuance of his expression tensed with longing as she undid the button to his pants and slowly drew down his zipper.

The hard, heavy weight of him fell against her hand as soon as it was freed from his pants. She glanced down surprised he wasn't wearing underwear. She'd never fully seen a man's penis. She had kept her eyes locked on Angel's face when they made love, and sex with Parker had been the dark. Somehow she knew those experiences would never be repeated with Spike. He demanded full exposure, all barriers torn down so there was nowhere to hide. Sex with him would be a long, slow, uninhibited affair that would leave her thoroughly explored from the outside in.

His cock was long, thick, the head slightly ruddy and wet with precum. She touched her finger to the tip, and it bobbed excitedly. Her eyes darted up to his, suddenly uncertain.

"I've never," she tried to explain.

"Never?" Spike arched his scarred brow.

She mutely shook her head, suddenly ashamed of her inexperience. He expelled a gusty breath, his mouth quirking at the corner. "Their loss is my bleedin' fantastic pleasure," he purred.

She blushed and looked down again. She loosely wrapped her fingers around his cock, and ran them experimentally along his length. He shuddered, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. "What do I do?"

"You're doin' great, luv."

"But my mouth would be better?" She cast him a coy glance from beneath her golden lashes. His breath stolen, he nodded mutely. She kneeled forward, her delectable little arse waving in the air as she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock. Spike groaned. It was the first sound of pleasure she had heard him make. Embolden, she pursed her lips, pressing a kiss to the tip. Instinctively he rocked forward, ecstatic when her lips parted ever so slightly to let him in. Her mouth was wet, smooth and purposely tight as she allowed him to slide into her throat. She wrapped one small fist around the base of his cock, the fingers of her other hand tickling his balls. He threw his head back, tight tendons bulging in his neck and he ground his teeth together to keep from whooping in joy.

"So good," he exhaled in a long groan.

Quick to learn, Buffy was sliding him in and out of her mouth in a slow dance that was setting his nerve endings on fire. He wrapped her silky hair around his fists, trying his damnedest to be gentlemanly and not ram himself down her throat.

"'m cumming," he hissed, using his grip on her hair to pull her away. She protested when he dropped to his knees beside the bed. He snatched a deep, open mouth kiss from her as he shuddered into his hand. Finished, he broke away and rested his forehead against the edge of the bed to recoup himself.

"Why did you do that?" Buffy was confused. Every whispered, under the covers, sleep-over confession she had heard from her girlfriends growing up confirmed that men preferred mouths to fists when they came.

He heard her pain, and lifted his head. Her wide green eyes were so expressive. A man could judge his actions in the mirror of her eyes. How was it possible that anyone could hurt her, when she looked at them like that? He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her close for a searing kiss. She was breathless when they parted.

"A gentleman does not cum in a virgin's mouth."

He almost laughed at the way her nose wrinkled in affront. "I'm not a virgin," she replied dryly.

"Mmhmm. Close enough, luv. Never been eaten out, never gave a blow job. I'm willin' to bet you've only had it missionary style."

Mortified, Buffy started to turn away. "You're not a gentleman, either," she hissed. They had both got off, so they were done here. It was time for her to leave. Spike capture her by the shoulders, and forced her to face him.

"'m not criticizin' you. I'm condemning them. You're so bloody hot, I have no idea why they didn't spend every waking moment of the day trying to get into your hot lil' quim. I want to do everythin' with you. I want to experience everythin' for the first time with you." Her eyes were wide and luminous, and he could smell the hint of her fresh arousal in the air. He pulled her closer, his lips ghosting over hers. "I want to shag you until my dick falls off. There's nothin' gentlemanly about that."

He felt the heat of her blush against his cheeks as he kissed her. He didn't resist as she slipped his duster off his shoulders and pulled his tee up his chest. He lifted his arms so she could pull it all the way off. He toed off his boots and shed his pants in record time. She reached for him before he was finished, pulling him down onto the bed on top of her. He kicked his jeans off his ankles, nuzzling the hollow beneath her ear.

She parted her legs and he settled between her thighs with ease. As if he had always known the way to her. His hard length, burrowed along her wet slit and she angled her hips towards him. He slid his hands under her back until her shoulders lay flat in his palms, his elbows braced on the bed, pressed close against her ribs. He looked into her eyes, seeing the world reflected there, and knew he was doing it just right. Her lips parted for a kiss and he couldn't resist the call. He slid his cock into her smooth like she was melted butter, his tongue delving into her mouth. They locked together, their pelvis bones touching. He rocked against her slow and steady, not withdrawing, but using the weight of his hips to grind against her. Her legs wound around his thighs, locking him to her so he couldn't withdraw if he wanted too. They were pressed together from hip to collar bone, nearly melting into each other. They rocked, slow and sensuous, their pace never increasing, even as they felt the slow build up of release. Spike could feel the slickness of her skin beneath him, the heat of her body warming him all the way through.

"So bleedin' perfect," he murmured against her cheek.

"So good," Buffy agreed, tightening her body around him like a vice, afraid he would leave her at the last moment.

"Shush, 'm here. Never gonna leave. I got you." He gathered her closer. He felt her fall apart around him, starting where his dick was wedged so tightly inside her, and expanding outwards to her fingertips. As her body shuddered and heaved, he lost himself to the bliss of her pleasure, coming hard and deep inside her.

"Spike," she called as if far away in a tunnel. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder and neck. "I got you. Never gonna leave you," he vowed with his entire being.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It's all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

Some spoilers for Hush. Olivia won't appear. I never fully understood her role other than Giles having a cuddle buddy during an admittedly scary time. Besides it always kinda weirded me out that Giles had an international booty call.

A/N: What? You thought it was going to be all puppies and rainbows here on out? We are talking about Spike and Buffy. They couldn't agree on the sky being blue if their lives depended on it. Seriously, they have a pathological need to argue. Kinda exhausting, if you ask me.

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Seven

Spike tasted every inch of her body, from the soles of her feet to her smooth armpits. She never felt so thoroughly debauched in her life. She sprawled across his bed, his coverlet long gone, black satin sheets spilling onto the floor in a cascade of oily shadows. Sometime before ten she managed to call her mom to tell her she was with Spike, and discreetly forgot to mention when she would be home. Her mother was strangely agreeable, and Buffy chalked it up to maternal acquiescence. After all, how much more knocked up could she get? It was well past midnight now, and she didn't think there were any bones left in her body to get out of bed to pee, much less make her way home. That was until her belly rumbled. Loudly.

Spike lifted his head off the pillow. "What the bleedin' 'ell was that?"

Buffy curled around her belly, hiding it from him. "m hungry," she mumbled. He looked at her speculatively, before glancing towards his kitchen. He had a sprawling loft apartment, with no interior walls except for the bathroom. From where they lay, they could see across the large open space to where his kitchen was situated. The area was dark with only a lit lamp by the door, and more light spilling from the bathroom where she had left it on a couple hours ago. She could see hints of dark masculine wood and black leather from the seating area close to a bank of windows overlooking the river. She wondered at the windows, but she supposed Spike was a big boy and could take care of himself. If he wanted to live on the wild side with a wall entirely made of glass that was his business. She would mourn him when vacuuming up his ashes.

The thought gave her pause. Would she mourn him? She snuck a peek at him while he frowned at his state of the art kitchen. Until now they hadn't anything in common other than their pending child and the forbidden topics they both skirted around. On the plus side, Buffy found a way to satisfactorily work out her frustrations. After the marathon bout of enhanced stamina sex they just shared, she was convinced even the Oakland Raiders would have been found lacking. She was completely satiated in a way she had never felt in her entire life.

However, sex did not a relationship make. And that was all it was. Sex. Once this weird horniness phase of her pregnancy was over, so would the sex. After all, he was a vampire. An evil, soulless one at that. He was only held in check by the chip in his brain. Only scant weeks earlier he was trying to rip off her head while laughing merrily in the sunshine. She must never forget he was a killer. She shouldn't even be here with him. Disappointment loomed inside her at the thought, but she didn't have time to analyze it before Spike turned back to her.

"I think I have some Weetabix."

"Wheat-a-what?"

"Yah, I don't think you'd like it. I can run down to the all night market. Get you some chips or sumthin'."

Buffy frowned. Chips were of the no. She wanted something more substantial. Something meaty. She licked her lips. Spike's brow rose and interest heated in his dark eyes. Buffy wavered with answering interest. Nope, that wasn't of the good either. She rolled backwards off the bed, proud when she didn't stagger. _Much_.

"I think I should go home. I can make myself a BLT or something."

She missed the flash of disappointment on Spike's face as she tottered towards the door to retrieve her clothes strewn in front of it.

"I can make you a BLT."

Buffy frowned at her underwear. They were a sodden mess. _Gross_. She shook out her sweat pants and stepped into them commando style. "I don't think they are going to have bacon, lettuce and tomato at the Quickie Mart." She pulled her pants over her hips with a little shimmy.

"I'm sure we can find an all night diner somewhere." Spike had no idea why he was so desperate to hold onto her. There was no way he was going to be able to have sex again tonight. Yah, he was a vampire, but he wasn't a bleedin' machine. So what would be the point of her staying? It wasn't like they had anything to talk about. He should be finding his keys to take her home, instead of trying to coax her into staying.

"Nah," she rejected, shrugging on her bra. She pulled her head through her hoodie, when she suddenly turned to him wide-eyed. "You think they'd have pancakes?"

Spike nodded, bemused at the sudden change in her demeanor. She gripped her belly, her countenance almost thoughtful, before she rounded on him with a smile.

"Oh, yeah. We want pancakes. The fluffy kind. With whip cream." She practically pranced over to her shoes. Spike didn't know whether to shake his head in exasperation at her mood swings or thank his lucky stars. At least now he was going to be able to spend some time with her.

All her thoughts of food made her think about what Spike was eating. She abruptly detoured from her shoes and headed towards the fridge. She opened it up, uncertain what she would do if she found it empty. Instead, she found plastic containers of pig's blood. She looked over the refrigerator door to where Spike stood in the shadows, but the interior light blinded her. She couldn't see his expression, and she wondered what he saw on hers. Relief? Indecisiveness? Hope?

"We aren't, like, dating, you know?" She frowned, narrowing her eyes against the bright light of the fridge. "Just a couple of weeks ago, we hated each other."

"Yeah." His soft agreement was disembodied in the darkness.

She closed the refrigerator door with a hard rattle. "This is just sex." She quashed any hint of hope that may have reared its ugly, treacherous head as she stalked back over to her shoes. Her eyes hadn't adjusted to the darkness yet, but she knew he was watching her. She couldn't help but wonder at his silence.

They found an all night diner catering to truckers on the way out of town. The yellow linoleum table was cracked, and Buffy worried the edge with her thumbnail. Spike sat across from her, his arm thrown over the back of the bench seat, unobtrusively glaring at a shaggy trucker who had given Buffy a once over when they entered.

"I can't decide between pancakes or one of those fried skillet things with bacon and sausage."

"Thought you wanted pancakes?"

"I did, but now I want both. And maybe steak and eggs-without the eggs." Buffy frowned at the menu, her thumb still worrying the crack.

"Order it all." Spike shrugged and looked out into the black night beyond the red pool of light from the neon EAT sign.

"I can't eat all that!" Buffy glared at him, affronted.

"Don't. Jus' take nibbles from what you want."

Buffy very carefully closed her laminated menu and folded her hands on top. Spike felt the tension ratchet up a notch and he had to suppress the urge to sigh as he braced himself for superbitch emergence.

"Where does all your money come from, Spike?"

"What?" That wasn't what he was expecting at all, but in hindsight, maybe he should of. He could only flaunt his flushed status so much, before being called on it. Ordering excessive platefuls of food from a cheap diner may not seem extravagant to him, but to a moneywise woman like Buffy, who had spent an entire summer trying to feed herself off meager waitressing tips, it was.

"The car, the books, the _apartment_." Bloody hell. It was the flat that has her soddin' knickers in a bunch. He should have just taken her to the nearest crypt and shagged her silly, instead of being a gent and taking her back to his flat. She was so hot and heavy she wouldn't have cared if it were a dirt floor or king-sized bed with satin sheets. _Still got hers, and then some, _he thought vindictively.

"Got a job," he said flatly. Her eyes sparked jade and he felt a tremor in his cock. Christ! He would have thought for sure he wouldn't get a rise out of it for at least two days. Bleedin' sexy bint. He needed to have his head checked.

"Doing what?" she snapped.

"Stuff," he snapped back.

"Ready to order?" the middle-aged waitress asked. She smelled of White Shoulders and grease. Spike could barely control his snarl.

"No."

"Yes."

The waitress looked between Buffy's resolute negative and Spike's frustrated affirmative. Shaking her head, she just walked away. "Let me know when you're ready," she called over her shoulder.

"What kind of job, Spike?"

Spike huffed and threw himself back into his seat. Stupid woman couldn't mind her own business. "I help some business owners."

"Doing what, exactly?" Spike shrugged and refused to meet her gaze. "Spike," she drawled warningly.

"I make sure their places don' ge' busted up. Tha' alroit with you, miss priss?" His East End accent was getting heavier, a sure sign he was trying to hide something from her. She narrowed her eyes, before they widened in understanding.

"Are you running a protection racket?"

"So wot if I am?"

"Spike, you can't go around robbing people."

"I ain't robbin' nobody," he exploded in a snarl. "I charge a small fee to make sure they aren' rousted by the local evils." There was no way he was going to bring up the smuggling ring he strong-armed from Willy. The berk wasn't running it right anyways. Besides Willy was making twice as much now for doing half the work just taking orders. Spike's European connections allowed him to bring in high demand commodities to the demon community. Nothing evil, mind you. Just standard demon fare.

"That's what the police are for." Her little hands were squeezed into fists on the table. She realized her voice was pitched a little too high and she quickly pulled her hands into her lap with a quick look around. The diner was mostly deserted, and the waitress was steadfastly ignoring them, having already ascertained they were going to have a row when she first asked their order.

"They can't call the bobbies you, dumb cow. They're demons."

Buffy frowned at him. She was going to let the dumb cow comment pass. For now. "Demons own businesses?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yah, or they're humans who cater to demons. Who do you think helps out Willy if he has a problem? Not the SPD, that's for damn sure."

She watched him with coolly assessing eyes. He could tell she had questions. Even though she was the Slayer, she had very little connection to the demon community that flourished around her. It was logical they would find solutions to their problems internally rather than relying on human agencies that weren't equipped to handle demonic contingencies. She leaned back in her seat.

"You aren't robbing anyone?"

He imitated her body language. "No. I run it fair. Ask anyone."

Buffy made a note to question Willy when she saw him later. He was the only business owner she knew of who dealt with demons. Maybe she could get some information out of him about other business owners so she could question them as well.

"Anything else?"

Spike felt a twinge in his middle. If he wasn't going to tell her about his smuggling ring, then he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her about the run down demon strip club he just bought with plans to renovate into a first class cabaret. He intended on running it right with no off the book hook ups or hanky panky on the site, but he knew the self-righteous bitch would read it wrong. The last thing he wanted was for her to call him a pimp, and tell him he wasn't good enough to see his kid.

"That's it," he confirmed straight-faced.

The silence lengthened between them. Fuck. How he made his money was just added to the list of forbidden topics they didn't discuss along with their past love lives and their dichotomous murdering tendencies. If all they had in common was sex and their baby this relationship was never going to work. Spike had to ask himself for the thousandth time why he even wanted it to.

Finally Buffy came to a verdict, one that clearly wasn't in his favor. "Take me home." Without another glance, she slid out of the booth and walked out of the diner.

All the houses in the neighborhood were dark when he pulled up to the curb. He barely had the car in park before she was wrenching open the passenger door. It was only her mother's ingrained politeness that had her tossing a goodbye over her shoulder as she got out. Except nothing came out. Hovering halfway in and out of the car, she tried again. Nothing. She slumped down in the seat, throwing a panicked glance at Spike who was looking at her like she had hit a whole new level of crazy. She opened her mouth, motioning with her hand that nothing was coming out. She scoured her memory for any mention in her books of spontaneous laryngitis being a rare symptom of pregnancy, but she came up blank.

Spike frowned at her, and cocked an eye. What the daft cow wanted now he had no idea. He just wanted her out of his car. It would still be dark for a few hours, more than enough time to find some booze and drink the memory of this night away. The last part anyways. The first part had been pretty damn good. He sat there watching her flail with her mouth gaping open and he thought about how good it felt to have his cock in it. He rolled his eyes, and mentally slapped himself upside the head. Buffy thought he was rolling his eyes at her, and slapped him upside the head for real.

_Ow!_ He snarled, only to realize it didn't come out of his mouth. She made throttling motions with her hands and looked at him like he was a moron. He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of her and her goddamn mood swings, but nothing came out. She settled back in the seat, her arms crossed for all of two seconds before one hand flew up in the universal 'duh' signal. He clicked his tongue with disgust and glared out the darkened windshield. They sat for a few minutes their minds filled with thoughts of how much they couldn't stand each other, and why did shit like this always happen to them. Oh right. Slayer. Vampire. The Powers That Be hated them. Check.

Spike flung his hand over the steering wheel, indicating the darkness in a vague wave. To Buffy his actions weren't vague at all. He wanted to know if he should drive her to Giles' house. She nodded, but held up her finger for him to wait for her. She got out of the car, and went around the house to let herself in the back door. She grabbed the notepad off the counter and wrote a quick note reassuring her mother, and telling her to stay home from work. She pinned it to the fridge with a Disneyland magnet, and ran upstairs to change into slayer friendly clothes, complete with fresh underwear. She didn't have time to shower, so she had to settle with wiping away the night's secretions with a wet rag. She was pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she trotted down the stairs. On her way out of the house she grabbed two bananas and the notepad.

She slid into the car next to Spike, flinching at the sound of the car door slamming. The atmosphere was quieter than normal. Sound was muffled, almost like someone was pressing a huge pillow over the world. It made unexpected noises startling. Buffy bit the side of her thumbnail as they drove in silence to Giles' house. She'd kept a low profile since the disastrous Will Be Done spell, and this would be her first time seeing her Watcher or any of her friends other than Willow. She wondered how they would feel about Spike being there. She glanced over at him. His usually full lips were thin, and there were deep shadows under his sharp cheekbones.

He made his feelings clear about her slaying while pregnant. He didn't want the baby to get hurt. By extension that meant he didn't want her being hurt. She wondered if he cared about her in any way separate from the baby or if all his concern was centered on the life she carried inside her. Spike's attitude made her feel like Pandora. How had the ancient Greeks put it? Women were only the jar where the hope of new generations resided, but otherwise they were put on this world with the sole reason of making men miserable, endowed with the soul of a bitch. She was sure Spike would concur with the whole soul of a bitch thing when it came to her. They certainly loved to hate each other. It seemed pretty conclusive that in Spike's mind, she was just some jar holding the real treasure. Useful for only as long as she wasn't useful anymore.

They pulled up to Giles' apartment, and Buffy didn't bother to wait for Spike to open the door for her before she was out of the car. He trailed behind her as she stalked up to the apartment. Spike saw the slight hesitation in her body before she knocked. He wondered at the state of the relationship between Watcher and Slayer. Had Buffy told her watcher she was keeping the baby? Did he react in fury? Spike hoped he didn't get staked once he was inside the flat.

It took a great deal of pounding, before they heard the locks being disengaged. Giles opened the door, looking more than a little rough. His ratty dark blue robe looked as old as the man wearing it. It was unbelted, revealing fairly new green and white striped pajamas. His hair was sticking up at all angles, and he desperately needed a shave. He took one look at Buffy and wiped his hand down his face, opening the door wider for them to enter.

Buffy waited for him to speak, knowing it was the best way to get the ball rolling. She watched for a few comical moments as he tried to speak, before she indicated they were having the same problem. Spike watched their interaction closely. Buffy held herself stiffly until the situation came clear to the Watcher. When it did, Spike saw something completely unexpected. Giles wrapped his arms around Buffy in a fatherly embrace she instantly melted into. He inhaled and he could scent the distinctive tang of her salty tears, but she kept them hidden with a quick swipe of her hand when she parted from her watcher. It was then, that Spike understood she'd been worried about being rejected by her watcher. She was after all, knocked up by demon spawn. Spike was pretty sure that was executable offense as far as the Council of Wankers was concerned.

He had a sudden appreciation for the other man, who without words was able to absolve his girl of her fears, but now Spike had his own concerns. Once their voices returned he needed to take Rupert aside and find out his intentions. Spike needed to be prepared if the Council came for them. The wave of frustration he felt at the thought was palpable. The Council was composed of humans. The one creature in all the bleedin' world he couldn't defend against. How was he supposed to protect his family while he remained chipped? He was well and truly neutered. A pathetic git of a man who couldn't even protect his own.

Giles waved them to the bookshelves while he shuffled off to start some coffee. Buffy and Spike pulled out books, and he went upstairs to make himself presentable as the coffee brewed. When he came back down, he was quick to note that the two parents-to-be were sitting on opposite sides of the room, their backs to each other, reading books.

One by one the Scoobies filtered in throughout the morning. Willow rushed in, hugging Giles and Buffy, and even shooting Spike a little wave that had him raising an eyebrow. Willow and Buffy were barely settled next to each other on the couch when Xander and Anya burst in. Xander was full of fumbling anxious energy that made the vampire grateful the whelp couldn't speak. Xander shot him a malevolent glare that Spike returned with two upraised fingers.

After the news broadcast announcing that Sunnydale was the victim of a citywide laryngitis outbreak the mood in the room was somber. Xander was holding his bird to his chest while she wept silently. Giles wandered aimlessly between the kitchen and the living room as if looking for some sort of magical tea that could fix everything, and Buffy and Willow sat huddled together on the couch. Willow had taken on a comforting role that was almost surprising. She had her arm wrapped around Buffy, who was curled up as if she was trying to protect her belly. It was clear by her body language that Willow accepted their baby, and by association she had accepted Spike as well. It warmed his undead, unbeating heart a little, but it didn't disperse the jealousy he was feeling. He wanted to be the one on the couch comforting Buffy. But he wasn't being acknowledged again. She kept her back to him so he couldn't even see her face. It made him wonder if their little girl was going to be as stubborn as her mother. He could picture a little girl with blonde pigtails and big blue eyes tapping her toe impatiently while waiting her turn at the jump rope. A thought suddenly struck him.

He motioned to the Slayer, but she steadfastly ignored him. He stomped his foot, but she just huddled further into Willow who gave him chastising little glare. He rolled his eyes. Soddin' dozy women. He tore off a piece of paper from his note pad, wadding it up, and hurling it at Buffy's head. She jerked up, her green eyes narrowed and glittering with fire. He smirked, shifting in his chair to hide his quickening hard on. He scrawled something on his pad and showed it too her.

DREAM?

She frowned at him. He huffed and wrote something else.

THE ONE WITH THE LITTLE GIRL AND THE RHYME

Buffy's eyes widened and she nodded before shooting off the couch to confer with her watcher. He watched her go, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her. His eyes shifted back to the couch where Willow was staring at him in a darkly speculative manner that made him distinctly uncomfortable. He mouthed a wide 'what' at her, and she just shrugged, dropping her gaze back to an open book in her lap.

Buffy's description of her dream narrowed the search somewhat. The Scoobies were trying to find references to anything related to the Gentlemen or spontaneous laryngitis. Spike flipped through the pages of a large tomb halfheartedly, his attention mostly focused on Buffy. Every once in a while she would drift into the kitchen and sweep through the cupboards only to come back empty handed and distinctly sullen. He supposed she was hungry, but there was more than enough donuts and chips to go around. There was plenty for her to eat. He frowned, remembering her cravings from earlier. Pancakes, skillet fried potatoes with sausage, and steak. She was craving substantial carbs and protein, not empty calories provided by too sweet pastries.

He hauled himself off the couch and followed Buffy into the kitchen as she ransacked it for the fifth time that morning. While her head was buried in the pantry beside the fridge, he dug around in the freezer. He found a single T-bone steak still in the store packaging, underneath a bag of frozen French fries. He pulled it out, showing it silently to Buffy whose eyes brightened from a dull hazel to mossy green. Seeing her approval, he opened the microwave and carelessly flung the package inside, hitting the defrost button.

Giles wandered in while Spike was searing the steak in a cast iron skillet he found shoved back behind an unused crockpot in the cupboard. The older man shook his fist, mouthing something unintelligible. Spike merely raised his scarred brow, cocking his head at Buffy who was standing at his shoulder practically salivating. Giles took one look at the pointed hunger on his charge's face and promptly walked back out, deciding a good t-bone steak was worth the sacrifice in keeping her happy.

Bouncing on her toes, Buffy flashed a plate at Spike before the steak was fully cooked, her pink tongue darting between shiny lips. A tremor went through his thighs and shot straight to his cock. He distracted himself by quickly turning off the burner and plating her steak. She took it from him with the widest smile of thank you he'd ever seen from her. Suddenly, it wasn't only his cock affected by her, but his entire chest. A warm, sappy feeling that had him rolling his eyes as he followed her out into the living area.

She knelt in front of the coffee table and proceeded to attack her food. As she cut into the meat, dark juice spread across the plain, white plate. Spike sat behind her on the couch, waiting to see if she would reject it. Instead, she dropped her knife and fork and picked up the entire thing by the bone to gnaw on it with wet, juicy noises. One by one the scoobs focused on her, various degrees of concern and tinges of disgust ghosting over their expressions. Spike shook on his gameface, snarling at them in silent fury so potent, they collectively gasped. He tamped down the demon as they shifted away, unaware they'd been leaning closer to watch Buffy like she was on display. Their sudden movement had her looking up, artless confusion wrinkling her brow. When everyone dropped their eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at Spike who smiled innocently at her and rubbed the dip between her shoulders. She returned his smile, and went back to gnawing on her bone.

Dusk curled around the edges of Sunnydale, accompanied by the sound of locks being thrown and blinds drawn. Most of the town's residents didn't know what was out in the darkness, but they knew they were being hunted. Families huddled together, children sleeping between their parents, lovers holding each other tight. Xander and Anya waved goodbye as they headed back to his basement, and Willow returned to her dorm. Buffy mouthed 'mom' to Spike and he nodded in agreement. They drove in silence, noting the empty streets and boarded up windows on some houses. He followed her inside, locking the door behind him as she bounded up the stairs. He circled the bottom floor, checking windows and pulling down the blinds. Not a sound could be heard upstairs, but he could smell the saltiness of tears and he imagined the Summers' women huddled on the bed seeking mutual comfort.

The night lengthened, pooling deep, dark shadows along houses and beneath shrubbery. Spike prowled the lower level of the house in a continuous circuit, sneaking peeks through the blinds and out the peephole on the front door. Near midnight a cold chill settled in his bones, prickling the fine hairs on his neck. He stopped at the front door, concentrating all his senses towards the street. There was a muffled noise behind him, and he glanced up to see Buffy poised on the landing gripping a two-headed ax that glittered silver in the moonlight. She was beautiful, like a Valkyrie ready for battle. He scowled at her, and she scowled back just as fiercely. The Slayer didn't back down from a fight, and she sure as hell didn't hide behind a man. She wasn't the damsel in distress, she was the goddamn knight in shining friggin' armor.

Angry, frustrated, and knowing he couldn't win, Spike swung open the front door. Gliding up the walk was a tall, cadaverous figure that made Spike's skin want to crawl right off his bones. It's hairless, dead flesh stretched tight over it's skull, it's teeth silver plated and gleaming in the moonlight. It's Victorian dress made Spike think about the bullies he had drained just after he was turned, how he had discarded the belly-white, bloodless bodies in piss-stink alleys behind their fancy, brick-faced homes. He wondered if they looked similar to this creature when they were found.

Behind the creature were two hunched minions that undulated in a rhythmic motion that oddly reminded Spike of the waves crashing on the beach. As frightening as they were in appearance, what really creeped Spike out was the complete lack of sound. He kept waiting to hear the tinkle of buckles on the straightjacket worn by the minions or the sharp ting of shiny teeth as the tall creature smiled. There was only silence. It was muffled and cottony and made him wonder if he had gone deaf.

Spike shook on his game face and snarled. He could feel it rip across his throat and vibrate through his jaw, but there was no expected rumbling growl. Just empty silence. The tall creature raised it's hands in retreat, flashing silver teeth. It slowly backed away, but before it could move on, the Slayer was streaking past Spike, her doubled edged ax flashing in a wide arch.

Spike wanted to howl. She just couldn't let it go. He knew her reasoning. If they let the monster escape, then some innocent would die. For Buffy that was paramount to murder. But sod it, could she put herself and their child first for once?

Smoothly, the creature glided to the side, dodging her blow. Without contact she over extended and had to lunge off the walk and onto the lawn to regain her equilibrium. As she steadied herself, a minion flew at her, knocking her to the ground. Enraged, Spike leapt towards them, only to be waylaid in mid air by the second minion. As they toppled to the ground in a heap the loose buckles of its jacket cut him across the mouth.

Engaged in his own battle, Spike had to trust in the Slayer's formidable skills to keep her safe. Regardless of the protective feelings he felt towards her and their unborn child, she wasn't a woman to be coddled. The minion he fought was small and quick, it's tiny contorted body slipping out of Spike's grasp every time he reached for it. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the cadaverous creature glided down the street, far away from the house where Joyce still slept. Satisfied the Slayer's mother was safe, he concentrated his entire attention on the minion. The straps and buckles of the straightjacket fluttered around silently, occasionally flashing silver in the moonlight. Unable to get purchase on the creature itself, Spike lashed out and wound one of the straps around his fist. Once anchored, it took only a few short moments before Spike was twisting the minion's head off it's neck.

As soon as the creature was dead he swung around looking for Buffy. He watched as she took off the second minion's head with one smooth lop of her ax. Panting she dropped the head of the ax to the ground, her fist still wrapped around the handle as she searched the area for the third creature. Seeing nothing, she met Spike's eyes who indicated with a lift of his hand that the monster retreated down the street. He tensed as her gaze followed the direction he pointed, hoping she wouldn't decide to pursue the Gentleman.

A shadowed look came over her face as she gripped her belly. They stood together in apprehensive silence, her staring into the darkness, him staring at her. Finally, she turned to walk into the house, and Spike let out the breath he held. He didn't know what he would have done if she decided to follow after the monster. She was still holding her belly, and Spike trailed behind her, worry tight in his chest. He hadn't been able to keep an eye on her during the fight, and he didn't know if she'd been struck in the stomach or not. He locked the door behind them, watching as Buffy leaned her ax against the wall, and slowly made her way up the stairs. She reached the landing before the tension stretching tight inside him snapped. He took the stairs two at a time, gripping her shoulder to pull her around to look at him.

He dipped his head to look her in the eyes, begging silently to know if she was alright. She bit her lower lip, her brow furrowed. The tiny motion she made with her shoulders should have been a nonchalant shrug, but Spike could read worry in the lines of her body. His heart near bursting, he gently pushed her back to the wall so her shoulders were braced on the cool surface. He dropped to his knees before her, reaching for the hem of her shirt. She batted his hands away, annoyance shooting from her eyes. Spike shook his head. He knew she thought he was trying to have sex with her, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. Her hands knotted into uncertain fists at her sides. Slowly, he rolled up the hem of her blouse, indicating she should hold it up just below her breasts. She watched him, her teeth rubbing across her lower lip.

She lifted her hand, but instead of holding her shirt, she cupped his cheek in her palm. Spike stilled under her touch. He was both calmed and excited. The worry beating in his chest, the demon rattling the cages of his mind was soothed by her, but her gentle carress of her fingers made him think of their evening together.

She swiped her thumb over his lower lip, and he forced himself not to flinch away as she traced his cut. She wiped the blood from his chin, pushing the pad of her thumb into his mouth until the salty tang burst of it on his tongue. His eyes drifted closed as he leaned into her palm, transported into a place of contentment he never experienced before. He sucked her thumb clean, scraping his blunt teeth over the sensitive pad of her thumb. He felt a tremor race up her arm, and arousal flooded the air. He released her thumb, and with a soft kiss to the center of her palm he tilted his face up to hers.

The look they exchanged was heated, but it didn't disperse the fear still lurking beneath their arousal. Smiling reassuringly at her, he replaced his hand with hers to hold up her blouse. He tilted his head until his ear lay against the smooth, taut flesh of her midriff. He closed his eyes and honed all his vampiric senses on the ebb and flow of her body. Her heartbeat was loud. An insistent, steady staccato against her ribs. Her blood rushed in silvery waves through her veins, luring him with a siren call. Her belly rumbled with hunger, and he almost chuckled. But beneath it all was another tiny, thready beat. It was small and fast like a hummingbird's. He focused all of his energy on listening to the sound.

He brought his hand to rest against her belly, and with two fingers he drummed out the rhythm of the tiny beats on her skin so she could hear them along with him. He was concentrating so hard, he didn't feel her move until her fingers were threading through his hair, her hand holding him close to her belly. Silently, they stood in the dark for what seemed to be hours, reveling in the strong, steady heartbeat of their baby.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It is all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N: Hey guys! I just want to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. It makes a writer's heart go all pitter-patter. School has started up, so postings may slow down, but not by too much I think. I have two more chapters written already and I have a completed outline, so hopefully it won't be more than two weeks between chapters. Happy Reading!

Spoilers for Hush

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Eight

Spike had an ulterior motive in bringing Slim Jims to the Scoobie meeting at the college auditorium. He maneuvered himself into the seat to the left of Buffy, sending the whelp a truly malicious glare when he tried to hedge in. The young boy gulped and headed for the second row with his bird. Buffy was oblivious to the silent male posturing as she settled her bag at her feet, but when he sat she looked up, suspicion clouding her green eyes. Regardless, of their private relationship, they had little contact in public. That was something he was dead set on changing. In furtherance of his agenda, he pulled out one of the Slim Jims he had hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket. Her eyes lit up as she snatched it from his hand. He smirked as his theory was confirmed. The Slayer had a craving for meat.

Spike watched with a small curl to his lips as Buffy tore open the packaging and gobbled her treat. He noticed most of her friends were appalled by her new eating habits, but he was quite fascinated. A quick glance at her tight, athletic body told him she probably lived off salad, pizza with the toppings picked off, and caffeine. Seeing this new _ravenous_ side of her, made his insides twitch. In a good way.

Spike's head whipped around as soon as Giles started Camille Saint-Saens _Danse Macabre._ The twitch in his insides turned into a sickening vibration. The first time he heard the orchestra being performed, he was a newly turned vampire on the arm of his beautiful sire. They sat high in the balcony, Darla and Angelus laughing beside them. As the music ebbed the Scourge of Europe descended on the audience, their screams ascending in the wake of the music. As blood splashed on the gold brocade walls of the theater, he and Dru danced a sinuous waltz, her humming the tune under her breath. As he twirled her around, he closed his eyes and imagined skeletons dancing in a graveyard under a full moon.

Ignoring Giles' presentation, he shot Buffy a glance from under his lowered lashes. He wondered what she would say about his memory triggered by a bit of history. For all intents and purposes he considered it to be a good memory. He was deep in the embrace of love for his sire and the new dark world she was introducing him too. For the first time in his life he was strong and powerful. Dru had yet to show her fickle side, and he was completely enthralled with her and everything she represented. He was convinced she would give him everything he could ever desire. But she hadn't. Until Buffy. Until the baby, Spike hadn't even known what his true desires were.

He thought it was power to make sure he was never a victim again, to wreck vengeance on those who had taunted and humiliated him for years. He thought it was desirability to attract women who would have never given him a second glance when he was human. He knew those desires while substantial were inadequate. He realized he never wanted something as badly as he wanted this child. More surprisingly, he wanted Buffy. Perhaps this was what Dru had nattered on about.

He came back to Sunnydale, because he couldn't stop thinking of her. He thought it was to kill her, but now he wasn't so sure if that was ever his intention. He certainly had more than enough chances over the years, but he never followed through. Now he knew why. It was obvious their child was a miracle. The Powers That Be always meant for them to be parents, but what if they meant for them to be more than that? What if the secrets he kept from his sire, from his own self were rooted in truth? Maybe the changes he had been going through for the last two years were meant to be. Maybe Buffy was meant to be.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Buffy speculatively. What if she was the one he always dreamed of? The ambiguous promise of love he craved since before he was a vampire. The one he thought he found in Dru, but never was completely convinced. It seemed unlikely, his feelings of lust notwithstanding, but then again fathering a child was about as unlikely as it could get, and yet here he was. A soon-to-be daddy.

He looked up in time to see Giles' note for Buffy to patrol. He went from contemplative to enraged in a nanosecond. He exploded from his seat in a silent roar that rocked the occupants of the room. 'No!' he mouthed to Giles, ignoring the angry woman next to him. Buffy grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face her. 'No!' he snarled. He would be shouting if it were possible. Buffy responded by slamming him with a two-handed shove to the chest, knocking him back several feet. She flourished her stake, mouthing 'Slayer' with a concise sneer to her pretty, pink lips.

Spike covered the distance between them in a blink, his black duster swirling forward around her ankles at his abrupt halt in front of her. 'Mother' he spat in her face. The air between them was tense, and everyone held their breath. A copper tang tainted the air, and Spike looked down to see her stake piercing his chest above his heart. His eyes traveled back to hers in a long, slow ascent. Her face was pinched and mean, and he could see no hint of her beauty as she mouthed, 'vampire' with a glint of human fang.

They stood in a frozen tableau, both too angry to relent. Giles shuffled, and the spell was broken. Spike whirled away from her, seizing the table where the projector sat and flung the entire setup into the far wall with a loud, nerve shattering crash. He didn't look back to see the unrelenting anger on Buffy's face as he stalked from the room.

8888888

Buffy walked the darkened streets alone. It wasn't a new occurrence. She spent most of her time alone in the shadows. But it had never been so unbearably silent before. She couldn't hum the newest pop hit under her breath as she walked, or taunt the newly risen for her own perverse entertainment. The oppressive weight of the silence made her feel more alone than she had in her entire life. Worse, the silence gave her nothing, but time to think.

Outwardly, she projected lethal intensity. Her small, lithe body was coiled for an attack, her footsteps silent as she stalked her prey. Her eyes never stopped moving as she searched the shadows for any sign of her quarry. She was a predator in every sense of the word. But inwardly, she was a carefully compartmentalized woman. Her Slayer mind hunted her environment while the rest of her analyzed the events of the last few days. It wasn't easy to be analytical. She was a mass of confusion, all centered on the life she now carried inside her.

As the Slayer, Buffy had always been responsible for the safety of others. It was what she was. The Chosen One was the protector of innocents. It was her, and her alone who stood against the forces of darkness and made sure the light was never overwhelmed. For the most part the innocents she protected were faceless. A girl's tear-streaked aspect as Buffy pulled a vamp off her. A boy's boot-quaking terror as he cowered from a demon. Buffy hardly registered them on the peripheral as they scampered away to leave her to fight alone. Some innocents weren't so faceless. Her friends and family. Her classmates and professors. She protected them all. And while there was a personal sense of duty when it came to guarding them, it wasn't quite the same as when she thought about her responsibility towards her unborn child. The thought of losing her baby made her throat tighten up with terror and her stomach clench so hard it was difficult to keep food down.

Not for the first time Buffy was caught between the dilemma of her personal life and her Slayer responsibilities. Not patrolling for the last few weeks had engulfed her in guilt, yet it hadn't been enough to override her fear for her child. She felt selfish, small, and petty. Buffy knew people were dying because of her lack of action, yet she chose her own happiness over theirs. She was choosing her own child over someone else's. It was wrong, _yet_ it didn't seem wrong. It was instinctual.

Just like her attack on Spike earlier was instinctual. He was a vampire. She slayed vampires. Ergo, slay Spike. So why couldn't she? Even before he was chipped, there was something always holding her back. Maybe, it was the influence of the Powers That Be. Those selfish jerks were always messing with her life like she was their personal butt monkey. It was bad enough being their Chosen One, now she was playing the role of the Virgin Mary. Just, you know, less virginy. Buffy stopped in her tracks. _Oh, God._ Was she giving birth to the next Jesus Christ! Buffy was stumped on that one for a minute, before deciding it wasn't possible. Spike _was not_ even close to being a God, no matter how cocky he was.

Even though Buffy was acutely aware of her surroundings, she nearly came out of her skin when a cadre of demons formed out of the shadows to encircle her. She dropped down into a fighting stance, her heart beating a rapid tattoo inside her chest. A darker form appeared in a swirl of black leather, as Spike slipped between the ranks to stand before her. She wasn't surprised at the hardened look of anger he shot her, before he shifted purposefully to take a place at her side. With a dawning sense of awe, she realized the cadre of demons was under Spike's leadership and they were there to protect her. _Protect her! More like get in her way!_ Hadn't they got the memo? She was the Chosen _One_. She fought alone and she died alone. That was the way it had always been.

Buffy frowned and smoothed her hand over her belly at the thought. Spike caught her movement and he shifted to look at her. Maybe things should change. At least for a while. She met Spike's intense blue gaze. Would it be so bad to have someone fight beside her? Someone to watch her back? Her eyes flittered to the loose circle of demons around them. They kept their eyes respectively averted, as if by catching her gaze meant catching one of her stakes to the heart. Was it so wrong to ask for a little help now and again? Not that she needed help. She was the Slayer. She could dance circles around these chumps. But maybe, just this once wouldn't be so bad.

She angled her gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at Spike as she started to walk. With a flare of his duster he fell in step beside her, the demons spreading out in a search formation around them. She was struck with the irrational urge to reach out and grasp Spike's hand. Instead, she shoved it into her front pocket and kept her other hand wrapped tightly around her stake. They weren't a cutesy bootsy couple, and this wasn't date night. This was business. With that in mind, Buffy pushed away all doubt, and called on the instincts of the Slayer as they stalked through the night together.

A gray, leather-clad demon whom seemed vaguely familiar to Buffy appeared out of the night, motioning with a toss of his horns for them to follow. As one, Buffy and Spike shifted their direction, following the demon. He led them to the town square were the clock tower rose above the city garden. They watched as two Gentlemen, a bloody jar in each of their hands entered the building with their minions trailing behind. Buffy felt a thump in her chest. She had failed again. At least two people had died this night, because she had been too slow in finding the Gentlemen's hideout.

Spike moved with her as they raced across the lawn towards the tower. As they burst from the shadows, a group of commandos in fatigues entered the courtyard from another direction. From the corner of her eye she saw Spike's silent snarl and at a toss of his head all the demons except the horned one cut away from the group in an attempt to draw the humans from the building. Most of the commandos followed after them as Spike, Buffy and the gray demon raced into the clock tower. Spike and the demon formed a phalanx around her, engaging the cadaverous monsters before she could get a swing in. Pissed and frustrated, she feinted back to examine the room. The main floor was wide open with a set of stairs hugging the far wall. There were no obvious clues on how to kill the monsters, so she swerved around her 'bodyguards' and headed for the stairs.

She could feel someone hot on her heels as she raced up several flights of stairs, but she didn't look back. The upstairs was a half loft with no railing to stop people from tumbling down to the main floor. Buffy didn't have time to dwell on the lack of safeties for turn of the century architecture, because she was hit from behind as she gained the top of the stairs. She slammed into the wall with a huff, bowing her body on contact, trying to keep her belly safe. Her face took the bunt of the damage as she scrapped her cheek along the wooden, roughhewn wall.

Gathering herself, she shoved off, twirling her axe to take the head off the white-jacketed minion that leapt on her. Grayish blood spurted across her face as it's head arched through the air and tumbled to the bottom floor. Briefly, she imagined it splitting open like a watermelon as it hit the ground. She giggled at the idea of Spike getting spattered with a face full of minion brains. _Serves him right. _She wiped her face with her forearm as she took in the room with a searching glance. A masked man in fatigues brushed passed her, bracing his legs as he shot one of the Gentlemen with what seemed to be a bolt of electricity. The creature convulsed, but didn't stop it's gliding advance.

In her sweep, Buffy saw a small table covered in jars and bloody knives. In the center was the prettily carved box from her dream. She raced towards it, only to be knocked back into a large coil of rope as thick as her arm. She held off the ferocious minion, trying to ignore the smear of black goo on its lips as she planted her foot in its chest and kicked it off. The creature flew through the air, landing on the far side of the room with a crack as it's spine broke on a support beam. She scrambled off the rope, racing for the table, but a low wall blocked her. When she tried to leap over it, she was pinned from behind by something tall, thin, and icily cold. The Gentleman's long fingers wrapped around her throat, freezing the blood in her veins, making her feel sluggish.

She pounded on the wall with her fist to get the attention of the commando who was fighting off another Gentleman. His mask must have been torn away, because when he turned she recognized Riley, the teacher's assistant from her psychology class. She motioned frantically for him to smash the box on the table. He raced up, and with the butt of his gun he smashed one of the vials. She rolled her eyes and mimed a box.

The hand at her throat tightened and she was wrenched backwards. She hit the floor face first, a heavy weight on her back. Her eyes reflexively squeezed shut at the impact. When she opened them, she realized she was at the edge of the loft floor, her head hanging over the brink. Below her she could see Spike whirl around to fight off another opponent. _He dances so beautifully, _came the unbidden thought. The monster had her by the belt, and she could feel it's cold breath on her nape as it tried to drag her over the edge. She braced her hands on the floor and reared back, scissoring her legs to throw the weight off her as she flipped over. The sharp edge of the floor cut across her shoulders, and her long hair hung over the abyss. She was severally unbalanced as the Gentleman lunged at her, its silver plated teeth snapping like a steel trap at her throat.

Her hands were fisted in the labels of its fancy smoking jacket, holding him off as she frantically tried to knee him. It snapped at her and she twisted her face away, avoiding its teeth when she saw something flash from the corner of her eye. Spike was spiraling up the walls of the clock tower, leaping and climbing with amazing speed and agility. _It's Batman, _she thought, a little drunk off the adrenaline from the fight. Buffy turned back to the Gentleman, using her hips to try and buck him over her head, but she couldn't get the leverage she needed without falling off the edge herself. Suddenly, the monster was gone, hurtling over her and onto the floor below. Then Spike eclipsed her view, his face grim and bloody, his electric blue eyes glittering with fury.

She broke away and rolled onto her knees just as a tingle crept into her mouth and down her throat. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and screamed with all her might. When the sound died away she opened her eyes. The Gentlemen and their minions were headless, brackish goo splattered everywhere, and Spike was crouched beside her.

"Stupid, woman. You just couldn't wait. Had to be the hero. Had to nearly get yourself killed," Spike growled. His words were furious, but Buffy could hear the fear in them.

"I _am _the hero," she muttered quietly, suddenly feeling the exhaustion she was beginning to associate with being pregnant. "Or in this case the princess." She tried for chirpy, but it came out whiskey hoarse.

"Don't I know it," he muttered. "High maintenance is what you are." She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn't stop him when he leaned forward to nuzzle her cheek. It was the barest of touches, but she felt the tingle all the way down her spine. Spike helped her to her feet, his hand strong and steady under her elbow. In a rare show of weakness she allowed herself to lean into him, soaking up his strength. He smelled like blood, violence and the night air. He smelled familiar.

Riley stood a little ways away, watching them closely with narrowed, assessing eyes. The gray-skinned demon appeared at the top of the stairs in a flurry, startling Riley who swung a rifle in his direction.

"Stop!" Buffy commanded with enough authority for Riley to automatically glance towards her. "You should get the others and go," she told the gray demon. She didn't want anyone to be hurt, because they were helping her. She knew she shouldn't care. They were demons and at some point she was going to have to hunt them, but tonight they got a free pass. Riley and Buffy's gazes were locked so they didn't see the silent question from Dekker and Spike's nod for him to obey Buffy. The demon quickly turned and fled the scene, worry for his hide and his friends evident.

"What are you?" Riley asked, a pronounced frown creasing his wide forehead. "Are you, like, Queen of the Demons?"

"Huh!?" Buffy gasped, completely dumbfounded. Behind her Spike snorted.

"Are you raising an army to attack us?" Riley pushed.

"Attack who?" Buffy countered, bewildered.

"Humans."

"I am human!" Buffy couldn't believe it. He actually thought she was some demon queen set on raising an army? Why would he think something so ludicrous?

"Well, you're something, but it's not human. You kicked that hostile across the room like he was a nerf ball and you've a battalion of demons at your beck and call. Not to mention a vampire at your right hand, snarling at me like a guard dog." He lifted his rifle, not the least bit surprised when Hostile Seventeen stepped between him and the girl. "See. Guard dog."

"I'm gonna twist your head off, you wanker." He was no one's dog. He was a master vampire, and damned if he didn't want to show this army git what that meant. Spike raged at the unfairness of it all. He was the top predator in the food chain, and yet he couldn't assert his strength, because some berk thought it would be funny to mess with the natural order.

"I'd like to see you try, Hostile Seventeen. Being chipped and all, you might find it a little hard." It wasn't hard to recognize the vampire. His bleached hair and leather jacket made him distinctive. He was also the most powerful vampire they had ever captured. Professor Walsh would be ecstatic to get him back.

"Stop it! Both of you." Buffy stepped forward, ignoring Spike's hedging to try and keep her behind him. He glanced down at her small, retraining hand on his arm, but she didn't remove it. The last thing she wanted to do was attack a human to protect Spike. The Slayer inside her whispered she should just let him go. Let him attack the commando. Let him get captured. If he were no longer in her life, there would be one less confusion. Her fingers tightened on his arm as her entire being rejected the thought almost instantaneously.

"Slayer, the. As in the Chosen One. You should look it up. I'm certainly no demon queen. That's just stupid." The look on her face told Riley how much of an idiot she thought him to be for just thinking it.

"We need to go, Slayer," Spike urged. He didn't trust the tosser not to turn his rifle on Buffy and try to capture her. Buffy nodded, and together they tried to step around Riley.

"I don't think so, Hostile Seventeen. You're coming back with me." Riley leveled his rifle at Spike only to have it painfully kicked out of his hands by Buffy. Before he could respond he was thrust into the wall by a little girl who was barely hundred pounds soaking wet.

"Let me give you some info about Slayers, commando boy. We're protective and territorial. You can't just roll up into my town and start grabbing the Big Bads off the streets. You're supposed to kill demons, not shove crap in their brains or whatever else you're doing. You guys are giving me the wiggins." She shoved him into the wall again for emphasis, shocked at her own outburst. The protectiveness she felt for Spike wasn't love or desire. It was elementally tied to the protectiveness she felt for her child. He was important to the safety of her child, therefore he was important to her. She was sure these feelings were manufactured by the same magical influences that created their child in the first place. _Weren't they? _ Stupid magic. She was getting real tired of having her emotions jerked around by it.

As she and Spike walked away from Riley she had a sudden understanding of what Spike was going through. His almost fanatical protectiveness of her and their unborn child was more than likely magically induced as well. It was in her nature to protect. It was apart of who she was. But what of Spike's true nature? He was a killer. If she was having a hard time coping, how must he feel? This situation wasn't of his own free will. In fact, it was against his very nature. He was being coerced.

The thought gave her pause. If she believed that her emotions for Spike, and his emotions for the child were falsely implanted, did that mean she believed her love for her child was false as well? It wasn't as if this was a planned pregnancy with a man who loved her. She couldn't even rightly say it was the product of a one night stand. So why was she so fiercely protective? Did she even love her unborn child as a mother should love a child or was she just being jerked around?

Outside the clock tower she paused with her hand over her belly. Spike stopped, looking at her questioningly. Something clenched desperately in the hollow spot beneath her heart. She loved her child. She did. She really did. But how did she know if those feelings were true? How could she know if Spike's feelings were true?

She looked up at Spike, sorrow ebbing off her in waves. She watched his throat as he swallowed hard. How could she know if anything was real?

"Buffy, are you okay? Is the baby?" His voice was soft, concern radiating from him. He gripped her elbow as if to show her a measure of support, but she pulled away.

"The baby's fine." She stuffed her hands in her pockets, turning away to trudge back to Giles'. She felt tingles across her nape as Spike followed behind her.

As they entered the courtyard of Giles' apartment complex a dark-haired man in leathers appeared out of the shadows. Buffy tensed, noting how the man's gray eyes stayed respectively adverted from her face.

"Go on in, luv. I'll be just a mo'."

Buffy glanced at Spike then back to the man. He wore the same studded leathers as the gray-skinned demon. It never occurred to her there could be other demons in the world who could take on human guises like vampires. It made sense that vampires weren't the only demons to be able to do so. If demons always ran around in their true form, the whole human race wouldn't be as clueless as they were. Hiding in plain sight was a trick most predators in the natural world used to hunt. She cast the demon one last narrowed look before going inside.

"Did every one get out, okay?" Spike asked Dekker. It had been one of the hardest decisions he ever had to make, sending his cadre of demons after the humans. The demons weren't the same as the disposable minions he used in the past. Most of them were family demons who joined his crew so they could take care of their own. Spike was their boss not their master, and as such he was responsible for them.

"Spil'jal didn't make it," Dekker informed him quietly. "They captured him."

Spike raged. He wished he knew where the labs were. He wished he had the power to destroy the wankers who were tearing through the demon community like Nazis crusading on their own personal demon holocaust. He wished he could do something….

"Tell the others to get home to their families. Those wankers are getting more aggressive. Tell everyone to start staying off the streets at night. Maybe if they aren't getting as many of us they'll get bored and wander off."

Dekker scoffed at the unlikeliness of that, and Spike smirked in agreement. He clapped his second-in-command on the shoulder, and turned to go inside Giles' flat just in time to hear Buffy's whining pitch.

"So now Riley thinks I'm some demon queen or something."

"What, Riley? Our TA from Professor Walsh's class?" Willow asked.

"Yah. I'm starting to think his little frat buddies are all in on it. They're all muscly and stuff."

Willow pursed her lips and nodded in agreement. "They're having a party next weekend. Maybe we should go and snoop?"

"Oh. Oh. Recon!" Xander bounced excitedly.

Spike did not like the sound of this plan. Although, he couldn't identify the acidic burn in his stomach as being worry for her safety or jealousy at her being around 'muscly' males. It wasn't hard for him to put together that Riley was the mysterious guy who Buffy said wanted to have sex with her.

"Buffy, why would this Riley person think you were royalty?" Giles questioned, his brow furrowed as he shot Spike a dirty look. Spike crossed his arms and leaned against the closed door, watching as Buffy held court in the center of the room. She was beautiful even when she was being a snotty bitch.

"Because Spike showed up with a battalion of demons to 'protect me'." She used air quotes as she sneered at Spike. Taken aback by the implication that Spike was yet again asserting his authority over Sunnydale's underground population, Giles stalled for time by polishing his glasses.

"It was hardly a battalion, Slayer. It was jus' some blokes who work for me."

"You have demons that work for you?" Xander gaped at Spike. He was suitably if not scarily impressed.

"Have you become Master of Sunnydale again, Spike?" Giles asked with solemnity that made the hairs on the back of Buffy's neck go on end. The way Giles said 'master' made it sound like a dirty word.

"No! I'm no one's Master. I don't got any minions or whatnot. They jus' work for me."

"Great! No minion having. That would be bad. Wait. The demons work for you doing what?" Xander asked.

"Spike is running some sort of protection racket for demon business owners." Buffy crossed her arms and glared at Spike who returned her look with an equally hard stare.

"Demons own businesses?" Xander leapt off the couch in a panic.

"Duh. Who do you think does all the crappy jobs humans won't do? Who else would be brave enough to do business after dark in Sunnydale? It's scary and dangerous here," Anya pointed out reasonably.

Xander pinned Spike with his dark eyes. "So you're like The Boss. Like Don Corleone?"

Spike's upper lip curled suggestively. "More like Tony Montana."

"Yah, I can totally see the murderous streak in you," Xander sneered, looking Spike up and down.

"You're not murdering anyone are you?" Buffy narrowed her deadly eyes on him.

"No!" Spike spat. "Said I wouldn't. Like I told your mum, no big evils for me anymore."

"Or snorting the snow?" Xander quipped.

"What?" Spike spat truly bewildered.

"You aren't selling drugs to little demon kids?" Willow asked, still stuck on Scarface with Xander.

"No, goddamit. Stop being thick," Spike sneered and instantly regretted it when Willow flinched. Slayer wasn't going to like him being snarly with her bestie.

Buffy opened her mouth to say something, but Giles cut her off. "Children, we are getting off topic. Buffy, you say this Riley person now knows who you are and your calling?" His gaze was piercing, and Buffy had to fight the urge not to scrape her toe across the floor like a chastised child.

"It's all Spike's fault," she whined. "If he hadn't shown up with a bunch of demons I could have probably snuck in and done my business and got out without being seen."

"Not likely, Slayer. They had an entire squad there. The more likely scenario is they would have caught you."

"Whatev. I didn't need your demony protection, I'm human." She crossed her arms with a pout. Spike absolutely resisted the urge to bite her lower lip.

"Maybe, but you tossin' monsters ten feet into the air don't look so human. 'Sides someone needs to watch your back."

"You don't care about me," she accused, hating the insecurity in her voice. "Just our baby. I'm some jar you don't want to get broken. Don't try to make it out to be some noble thing." _ I can't believe I just called myself a jar. This is what a college education does to you. Rots your brain with useless information._

"I don't do noble, Slayer. You have no idea what I care about."

"Why don't you enlighten me?"

"I care that one of my blokes got pinched while watchin' your ungrateful skinny arse. I care that he's probably splayed open on some vivisectionist's table having his innards poked at by some Dr. Frankenstein in that underground dungeon. I care that I'm gonna hav'ta leave here and go tell his mate he won't be coming home, but the Slayer says 'ta, but you sacrifice don't mean a rat's arse'."

Buffy's gold complexion washed white as she drew back from Spike. For a single moment he could see the girl in her, before the Slayer came to the forefront.

"He's just a demon." She tried her hardest to sneer. To sound cold. But her voice was small even to her ears.

"He's a demon with a family who was trying to protect ours. And no one, not even demons, deserves to be tortured."

"A demon with a family," Buffy scoffed. "Next you'll be telling me he works for the Easter Bunny and hands out lollipops to good little girls and boys."

"Bunnies! There will be no bunnies! Xander, please tell them there will be no bunnies." Anya clutched her boyfriend's arm, but he didn't draw his gaze away from the arguing pair to comfort her. Spike's words gave him an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You're some piece of work, Summers. Everythin's so black and white for you. 'nd you're the center of your colorless soddin' universe. I hope you don't raise our girl to be as biased as you are."

"I will raise her to be strong, and to not go around trusting what goes bump in the night. I don't know about you, Spike, but I don't want our baby being eaten, because she thinks every Tom, Dick and Hairy with horns are the good guys. 'Cause they're not. They're just not."

"Maybe not. But they ain't all bad either. That's somethin' you need to learn. Someone might be dead because of you."

Buffy turned away, suddenly tired. "Yah, well. He's not the only one." She thought about the hearts in the jars. She failed more than just a demon tonight. Some Chosen One she was. "I didn't ask for protection. I'm the Chosen One, Spike."

"Yah. I get it. You fight alone. You die alone. You ever think that it's the alone part that gets you Slayers killed? Would it be so bad to have a little help on the battlefield?"

"Apparently, it is." Buffy flung up her hand halfheartedly. "If your guy hadn't been there, he wouldn't be captured, now would he?" She was tired. Her shoulders drooped under the pressure she normally bore with ease. When did things become so complicated? When did growing up become so hard? Everything used to be black and white. Now the world was a washed out gray.

"I honestly don't know what the big deal is. So, what? Some demon is getting his due. Hello, evil!" Satisfied his oversimplification answered one of the dilemmas on the table, Xander moved to his real concern. He turned towards Buffy, his face pinched. "Aren't you going to get an abortion? You guys keep talking like Buffy's gonna give birth to this freakazoid. Just go to the clinic and get it flushed already. While you're at it, why don't you stake Spike so we don't have to worry about him going gansta on us."

Buffy gaped at Xander, completely ignoring the deadly growl that was gaining in intensity behind her. She couldn't believe the amount of hurt flooding her heart at his hateful words. She was hardened against his biases when it came to the undead. His constant demands for stakings to be handed out to Angel and Spike barely registered in her consciousness anymore. She was just used to ignoring him. But for him to say such things about her baby. For him to be so callous about the life she carried inside of her. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

The crack of flesh on flesh came out of nowhere and shocked everyone. Xander and Willow stared at each other for long seconds. A handprint bloomed red on his face, and the flesh of her palm itched from the strike.

"T-that is my n-neice you are talking about murdering, Alexander Harris." Willow could barely speak she was so enraged. Her lips were pressed into a straight white line and she had to spit out the words with effort. "Nothing that comes from Buffy could ever be evil. Their baby will be beautiful. Now you apologize right now."

Xander cradled his jaw in his hand, his brow crinkling. He didn't glance at Buffy or Spike. His entire being was riveted on his very best friend in the world and the blatant disapproval rolling off her in waves. Willow never disapproved of him. Sometimes she scolded and shushed him, but she never outright disapproved with such ferocious venom. It confused him, because he honestly didn't know what he did wrong.

"I-I don't understand," he stuttered. "Buffy called it a monster just the other night. What's changed?"

Buffy's back bowed, her heart clenching as her own words were thrown back into her face. She had called her baby a monster within Xander's hearing, and so much worse in the graveyard with Giles. She couldn't blame Xander for not understanding. Her being pregnant with a vampire's child was a tough nut to swallow. She crossed to him, placing her hand on his arm. His brown eyes were watery as he looked down at her, and she tried for a reassuring smile, but she was sure it came out more like a grimace.

"What's changed, Xander is that I know this child isn't a monster. She isn't evil. She's a gift from the Powers That Be. She's something for Spike and I to protect. She's a miracle."

"You sound like him. He's corrupted you. Twisted you somehow. How can you think this child is anything but evil?"

Buffy withdrew her hand like it was scalded. She felt Spike's comforting coolness at her back and she had to restrain the urge to lean back into his strength. She was doing that a lot lately, and it made her angry. She wasn't a leaner, she was the leaned on. She couldn't stop the small traitorous voice murmuring how nice it was to not be the strongest one in the room all the time.

Willow's hand whipped out and snagged Xander by the ear. She yanked him down to her much lower level, nearly toppling him over. He howled with hurt, but quickly shut his mouth when she dug in her nails with a warning for him to hush up.

"You apologize right now or you'll regret it."

"Ow. Okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm all on board with the magical baby having. It's gonna be an angel from heaven," he yelped not very convincingly.

"That's right. And you better remember that, Alexander Harris," Willow growled very convincingly.

"Okay, I get it. Let go." Willow released him and he sprang away rubbing his ear furiously. "You know what? You're all crazy. I'm so outta here." Fuming he stomped out the door, leaving it wide open in his rage.

"You alright, luv?" Spike rubbed his hands down Buffy's arms, but she shrugged him off. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to keep all her rage and sorrow tightly wound up inside her.

"Just go, Spike. Go and don't come back. I'm tired of this charade."

She waved Spike off with finality and slowly trudged to the bathroom. For a moment everyone in the room thought Spike would explode in rage, then he just slumped his shoulders in defeat. Shaking his head, he stalked through the opened door and disappeared into the night.

A/N: Reviews won't break my heart. I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. It is all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

Thanks ever so to whomever nominated this at the Sunnydale Memorial awards! If you like the story go give it a vote! Again, thanks to all who enjoy the story and take the time to drop me a review. Manna from Heaven and all that rot.

**Dawn of a New Age**

Chapter Nine

Buffy thought hard about what Spike said as she went through the motions in the next week. Guilt was eating at her. Guilt two more people died because of her failure. Guilt she wasn't patrolling. Guilt a demon who was trying to help her was now a captive of the commandos. Guilt that she scoffed at his sacrifice. Guilt she felt guilty over a demon. She was just a great big, dirty, sticky ball of guilt. Pregnancy hormones sucked.

The idea of a demon helping her out, much less sacrificing itself in order to keep her safe wasn't something Buffy was ready to wrap her head around. As mind numbing as it was, that wasn't what was really chaffing her hide. Spike said the demon had a mate. Someone who was waiting for the demon to come home. Someone who was _grieving _for him_. _To grieve for someone meant you had to love them. And that just wasn't possible. Because they were just demons. They weren't someones. They were somethings. And things did not love. Period. End of story.

Because if soulless demons could love then that meant…..

No. She wasn't going there. She just wasn't. She needed to turn her thoughts to things she could control. She needed to channel her anger towards someone who could be punished.

She was mad, because she hadn't heard hide nor hair from Spike since she told him to leave. And, stupidly, she felt neglected. If the events of her life taught her anything, it was self-sufficiency. Her parent's divorce, her calling, and Angelus had all cumulated into one searingly important life lesson: In the end, she was the only one she could rely on. Sure she had her friends, Giles, and her mother. But when it came down to grit, bone and blood, she was the one standing in the deep end alone, fighting her way out.

So the abrupt lack of attention, where before it had been all encompassing, shouldn't have created the void in her life that it did. After all, she was capable girl. But now, she was flailing blindly in an abyss. It was like leaning against a solid wall only to have it abruptly disappear. She didn't like the feeling of childlike insecurity it inspired. Especially, at a time when fear for her child's safety made her so vulnerable. He was supposed to be by her side, protecting her when she couldn't protect herself. What's more, she resented Spike for making her think it safe to lean on him, before pulling his Houdini act. He promised he wouldn't leave. He _promised. _

She didn't want to admit how her need for his presence went further than the physical. She had come to rely on his solid emotional support of their baby. His constant litany of their baby's specialness gave her strength when faced with her own doubts or those of her friend's. Her mother and Willow still remained staunch supporters of her having the baby, but the men in her life were less than enthusiastic. Giles did little to acknowledge her condition other than to be lenient on her lack of patrolling, and while Xander wasn't showing up on her doorstep to berate her decision, his conspicuous absence spoke volumes on how he felt about the matter. Spike was the only man in her life who actually wanted her to have this baby, and even if his support was magically induced, it went a long ways in grounding her own emotions.

Besides, in the words of Anya, he gave her lots of orgasms….and she kinda missed him.

It was about an hour till dusk as she made her way to Spike's. She had the reasonable excuse of not having his phone number, and needing to inform him of an upcoming appointment. She absolutely wasn't walking over to his house, because she wanted to see him. She also wasn't going to tell him how hurt she was by his absence. That would be stupid. She knew better than to give ammunition to the enemy. And no matter what, no matter how long their truce lasted; she could never forget that Spike was the enemy.

Buffy _totally_ forgot that Spike was the enemy as soon as he opened the door. Her eyes ate him up slowly, from his toes to his hair. His bare feet poked out from the cuffs of his tailored pinstriped trousers and his slick, black, leather belt was unbuckled at the waist. His wine, silk shirt hung open, revealing a swathe of hard muscled torso only slightly darker than polished marble. The sharp edges of his cheekbones were accented in the dying daylight from the windows and the dark fringe of his almost girly lashes enhanced the electric blue of his eyes. Every muscle below her belly button tightened, clamping down on emptiness with a painful sense of loss. She was struck with the sudden urge to undo his pants while begging him to fill her up.

"Hot date?" She was breathless, and her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip in an attempt to hide it. His hair was slicked back with the forbidden pomade so she knew he wasn't coming to see her. She swallowed the hard knot in her throat, and told herself jealousy was a petty emotion.

"Work." He stepped back to let her enter. She skirted around him, her lips compressed in a white line. She caught a whiff of his gel and turned a little green around the edges. _Will not barf. Will not barf, _she chanted to herself.

"Nice clothes for beating people up."

Spike's lips tightened, but he didn't respond. His blue eyes sharpened as his gaze glided down her body, before resting on her face again. Her expression must have tipped him off to impending disaster, because he took a step towards the bathroom.

"I'll go rinse off under the sink."

"Don't bother." For some reason his solicitousness annoyed her. How dare he abandon her for a week then act like he cared. "I won't be long. I don't want to make you late."

Spike gave her a long appraising look and she stiffened, fighting the urge to fidget. A slow, cocky smile spread over his face, making her palms itched with the need to slap it right off.

"'M the boss. Can't be late." He turned towards the bathroom, stripping his shirt as he went. Buffy watched as his back was slowly revealed, his muscles rippling as he peeled the silk from his body. He tossed it onto the bed as he passed, and it landed next to a matching pinstriped jacket.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later she could hear running water. She was struck by the image of Spike delving his head under the facet, his long fingers working their way through his platinum curls to rinse away the hardened gel. More to distract herself than anything, Buffy moved further into the apartment. She hadn't really gotten a good look at the living area the last time she was there. She was impressed with Spike's taste. The floor was polished concrete accented with cranberry rugs in the seating area and under the dark cedar dining table. She smirked as she passed the large flat screen television on her way to the bank of widows overlooking the river. The orange sun hung low on the horizon, and the river glittered red and gold like spilt blood mingled with champagne.

"Beautiful, innit?"

Buffy's breath caught when she turned. Spike's curls were tousled white and wet around the crown of his head, beads of water trailing down his jaw and along the line of his throat to his bare chest. He held the ends of a fluffy white towel draped around his neck, and as she looked at his knuckles scarred with tiny, fine lines from decades of fighting, she was reminded how his strong hands had gently stroked her body into climax after climax. Her eyes trailed over his laddered abs to the deep shadowed clefts on either side of his lower belly. His dark trousers hung low on his hips and did nothing to hide his erection.

Her eyes met his, and she could tell by the intensity of his gaze he wasn't talking about the view. Her cheeks heated and she whirled around to face the windows. She took a few breaths to steady her raging hormones before she spoke.

"As nice as the view is, it hardly seems worth getting dusty over."

"Is that concern for my wellbeing, I'm hearin', luv?" His cool breath feathered the fine hairs on her nape, and she had to suppress the naked shudder of need racing down her spine.

She shrugged, struggling for nonchalance. "Just wondering who gets your apartment when you're dust."

His chuckle was dark and rich, strumming her insides. "I do love mercenary females."

Buffy ignored his provocative words, knowing it was a turn of phrase, but oddly affected by them. She held herself still as he reached over her shoulder to knock on the glass with hollow thumps. "It's tempered to prevent UV's from filtering through. Perfectly safe for vamps and li'l nippers who like the sunshine."

"Sounds expensive. Tempered glass, designer suits, apartments with gorgeous views. I didn't know racketeering was so lucrative."

Spike moved away, sweeping his hand towards a bare corner of the room. "I figure a play area here. Fence it in and fill it with toys and such."

Buffy knew a brush off when she heard one. Spike didn't want to discuss his finances, but it only made her more curious.

"Spike."

"Buffy, why are you here?" he cut her off. His curt tone made her feel unwanted and a tiny bit petulant.

"I don't have your phone number," she pointed out in a small voice. He hummed in agreement, and retreated to the kitchen area. He searched through a drawer, pulling out a notepad and a pen. He jotted down some information, tearing the page from the notepad before sweeping it and a green file folder that lay on the marbled counter back into the drawer. He closed the drawer with a snap and strode back to where she waited at the window. She took the paper he offered, glancing at the phone number briefly before folding it into a square and tucking it into the front pocket of her swede skirt.

She got what she came for. She had no reason to stay. Other than being a _glutton_ for punishment. "I have an appointment next Wednesday."

"I know." Her eyes flickered and he shrugged. "It's on my calendar. I didn't know if you still wanted me to take you."

She wrinkled her nose, remembering her last words to him. She told him to leave. To stay away. It had been her call. Her demand. Then why was she so disappointed when he obeyed?

"Did you find your friend?" She kept her eyes downcast not out of shyness, but shame.

Spike's entire body grew taut. He didn't want to lie to Buffy, but he didn't want to tell her the entire truth either. They found Spil'jal, just not all of him.

"He's dead."

"Oh. I-is there something I can do? F-for his mate?" Buffy felt terrible. Like she had betrayed someone. That emotion doubled back on her as guilt for having sentiments for a demon rose it's ugly head. The only person she betrayed by having compassion for something she was suppose to kill was herself and her ethics. But as much as she tried to pound that conviction into her head, her heart was resisting. She felt _awful_ that someone, demon or not, had died for her and her baby.

Spike watched in fascination as Buffy's brow crinkled in real sympathy. He imagined it was hard for her. The Council sure knew how to mind-fuck their girls. They were indoctrinated into an absolute truth. A belief in the definitiveness of good and evil. A steadfast categorization of right and wrong and a taxonomy of who and what fell into either side. To admit there could be something in-between was paramount to a born again Christian confessing to not believing in Jesus Christ.

Spike shook his head. "It's taken care of," he told her ambiguously.

She frowned, her fingers twining nervously in the folds of her skirt, sweating into the swede. "Will you tell her-it-that I'm sorry for her loss?"

Spike wanted to snarl at her. _Well, which is it, you bint? A her or an it? _He just sighed, nodding his agreement. Some of her tension lessened, and he watched as she eyed the front door. Despite his anger, he didn't want her to leave.

"Is that Riley bloke givin' you any problems?" Spike almost hoped the answer was yes so he could have the blowhard's head cracked open. Not for the first time, Spike desperately wished he didn't have the chip in his head. He resisted the urge to glance back at the drawer where the green file of local neurosurgeons was hidden. There was no need for Buffy to know his plans to get his chip removed. She couldn't understand what it was like to be handicapped, unable to protect his family from the weakest species in this dimension. Humans were at the bottom of the evolutionary scale, yet they were kicking his arse left and right.

"He introduced me to Professor Walsh in her professional capacity." Buffy shifted closer to the glass, worrying the edge of her thumbnail against the frame of one of the panels. He was beginning to recognize the action as a nervous tic she displayed whenever she was wrangling with deep, dark thoughts.

"Your psychology professor?"

Buffy was shocked. She had no idea he actually listened to her mundane chatter during their failed dates, much less retained the information. Spike must have read the amazement on her face, because he cocked his scarred brow at her.

"What? I listen." He defended in a tone that was one hundred percent male affront.

"Shyeah. The first man in the history of like, ever, to do so."

"It's not my fault you have bleedin' tragic taste in men, pet."

"Good job insulting yourself, you menace."

"Well, you didn't really choose me did you?" he shot back. Insecurity whipped through him with searing intensity. She hadn't chosen him. Would _never_ choose him. All she saw when she looked at him was a monster. He didn't think there was anything he could say or do that would change her steadfast perception of him.

Buffy felt the weight in her chest compress over her heart. No, she hadn't chosen him, and he sure as hell hadn't chosen her. It was all entirely out of their control, and Buffy hated it. She needed control. Without it, people died. Without it, she got hurt.

"I should go." She pushed away from the window, but Spike blocked her path.

"You were telling me about this Walsh bint."

She stopped, caught in the heavy web of his gaze. She thought about the trip to the mall she took with her mother earlier in the week. They browsed through one of those franchise jewelry stores and the sapphire rings had mesmerized Buffy. Spike's eyes had the same fire and sparkle as the gems. She was suddenly struck by the overwhelming desire to have the heavy weight of a ring on her left finger set with a sapphire the same color as his eyes.

"Yah." She shook herself before continuing. "She held me after class and told me she was part of some government agency called the Initiative." She rubbed her teeth over her lower lip, and it flushed a darker hue of pink. "I made sure they heard me tell Willow to run down to the lounge to call Giles to let him know exactly who I was with and that I'd meet her within the half hour. I was kinda bitchy about it, but I could see it made them nervous, like maybe I thwarted their plans. Or not. I don't know. It made me feel safer." She frowned. "What kind of word is thwart anyways? Sounds like frog language."

He could see this was going nowhere quick. Bleedin' public schools. "You did the right thing, luv. You can never be too safe with types like them. They got an agenda, an' you don't want nothin' to do with it. Gotta keep yourself protected."

He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to brush a strand of honey-blond hair off her forehead. For such a tiny little thing she was a powerhouse. She never had to be afraid before, never caught in a position where she might not be able to defend herself. Her foresight in sending Willow to call Giles showed how much she had grown in just a few short weeks. Before she would have been overjoyed in showing off her skills to an admiring audience, but now she was wary. She no longer threw herself in perilous positions where she could potentially be harmed. She thought before she acted, and was aware actions had consequences.

"Did she tell you what they're doing here in Sunnydale?"

"No. It's all hush, hush, top secret stuff. She was more interested in talking about me. She wanted to know about being the Slayer."

Spike's eyes darkened with concern. "What did you tell her?"

"Oh, you know. The basic spiel. I'm the Chosen One. Slay vampires. Yada, yada, yada." Buffy frowned, looking out across the river. "I told her about patrols, but I guess that'd be lie wouldn't it? Other than the Gentlemen, I haven't patrolled for weeks."

"Don't worry about it," Spike waved dismissively. He wanted to hear more about the Initiative. That was the real threat in Sunnydale.

"I do worry about it, Spike," she snapped, her jade eyes zeroing in on him with laser targeting. Anticipation rifled down his spine and he licked his gums, certain his fangs dropped. Still in human guise he returned her glare. "People are dying, 'cause I'm not doing my job. How many mothers have lost their children, 'cause I'm bowing out?"

"Not many." He prowled forward and she countered with predatory agility. He halted, still with the realization he was hunting her. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his erection. "None of the smart demons are on the streets, and those dumb enough to go out are being swept up by those commando blokes. No one's huntin' or feedin'. Even the evils. Too damn scared of becomin' the next science experiment."

Shock chiseled away at the Slayer's hard exterior. Her pink mouth puckered into a moue and with almost with Pavlovian conditioning Spike's tongue tucked itself behind his front teeth, curling with the unconscious desire to suck on something.

"Oh. So people are safe? No one's getting hurt?"

"No more than if you were on the job, Slayer."

Her eyes went flat. Reflective a moment before they centered on him. "Are you behind this? Are you controlling the demons somehow?"

He leered, his upper lip curling around a human fang. "As much as I 'preciate your belief in my prowess, I'm not the Godfather. This is all the Initiative's doing. Did that Walsh bint say anything else to you?" Spike watched as Buffy's body language changed as they spoke. She curled into herself, arms protectively crossed over her belly.

"She wanted me to go back to her office to look over some research she dug up on Slayers, but I didn't like how she was looking at me. Her and Riley. He was standing next to her like he was expecting me to attack or something. It just made me really uneasy."

For the first time she saw herself through the eyes of strangers. Their perception painted her as evil, and she had to ask herself how much of her life was spent in a hazy half-shadow of awareness? How much of the world she thought she knew with such pinpoint accuracy was only a twisted angle of her own epistemology? The sensation of their judgment and her newly budding self-awareness was uncanny. All wasn't right in Buffyland.

Spike stepped forward and ran his hands over her arms to comfort her. "That's cause you have bleedin' amazing instincts, luv. It's one of the things that make you the scourge of the demon world."

Buffy wrinkled her pert little nose, falling back on her proven technique of vacuity whenever things became too substantial for her comfort. "I'm nobody's scourge. It sounds like a disease."

Spike chuckled and her insides heated. "I beg to differ. Plenty of evils are scared dickless by you."

Buffy's pink lips curled at the corners. "But not you."

Spike's gaze heated as he focused on her lips. "No, not me." He edged closer to her, his erecting brushing against her hip. There were many adjectives Buffy would use to describe Spike, but dickless was definitely not one of them. He dipped his head, brushing his lips over hers in a butterfly caress. Electricity jolted through her, and she was suddenly aware of her increased heartbeat thudding in her ears. How he had such power over her body, she couldn't understand. Even before pregnancy hormones there had always been an attraction underneath the violence, and now that she'd tasted what he had to offer, she was addicted. Her heart beat harder; her breath came quicker, her muscles tensed, all in anticipation of his touch. It was so _wrong._

"I should go." She skirted around him, putting her back to the open room so she was no longer pinned between him and the windows. She soothed her sweaty palms over her tan skirt to hide her nervousness as she watched his stiff back. He turned his head first, his blue eyes pained, before he pivoted on his heel to face her.

"You just got here." His voice was husky, seductive. "Stay."

Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands curled against her thighs. She wanted to stay. She wanted to slink back over him with a loose-hipped walk and crawl up his body. But she couldn't. She still felt hurt by his abandonment. It had been so easy for him to walk away, and not see her for an entire week.

"Why?" Why did he want her to stay? Was it just for sex? She wasn't stupid. Spike oozed sexual magnetism. He could find a multitude of women to fulfill his every twisted, kinky fantasy. Why would he bother to pursue her? Like he said before, she was high maintenance.

"Cause, I want you too."

Talk about a non-answer. Anger bloomed in her chest, and she could taste acid in the back of her throat. "You can't say you've missed me. Seems you've been just fine without me," she spat between clenched teeth. He hollowed his cheeks, his lips puckering like they did when he found something amusing. He kinked his head to the side, and she gathered her denim jacket around her body, suddenly wondering if he could see inside her.

"What's this about, then?"

"Nothing." Her jacket cinched tight around her throat, she crossed her arms, tucking her hands under her armpits. Her toe tapped out an aggravated beat on the concrete floor, and she wondered why she hadn't left yet. The look he gave her was long and piercing, and she tightened her arms protectively. He took a step towards her, and it took all her willpower not to back out of striking distance.

"You all but ordered me to go, Buffy," he reminded.

"So." _Stupid, vampires and their long soul-sucking gazes that pick out all your secrets._ So what if she told him to leave that night? So what if she called their relationship a charade? If he couldn't take a little fire every now and again, then he should just get the hell out of the kitchen. How were they supposed to get along in the end?

"I didn't want to push." His tone was gentle. The sympathetic male tone of a man who respected boundaries set by a woman. It was not a tone that should be used by an unsouled vampire! It was completely at odds with everything she knew to be true in her world. It made her mad. What made her madder was how she responded to the unspoken plea in his words for her to give him a crumb. Any sort of sign that she reciprocated-his what? Lust? Desire? _Love? _Nope, that couldn't be it.

"Then what have you been doing while not pushing me?" she snapped.

His brow crinkled, and he glanced around the apartment as if looking for something tangible he could point to. An excuse to hide behind. He tensed and looked directly at her, his electric blue eyes glittering. "Missing you," he confessed with intensity.

"Don't say that!" she exploded. She flung her hands up in the air, and stalked a few steps away. "It was easy for you to leave," she told him bitterly. It was always easy for them to leave. It was ridiculous how little contact she had with her father, barely a handful of conversations in the last year. And Angel. Other than the Thanksgiving fiasco, she hadn't heard from him since the night he walked away.

Her thoughts circled around viciously, eating away at her in little miniscule ways that would eventually show more and more wear if left unchecked. She was jerked out of the cycle by Spike's strong hands on her shoulders. He pulled her backside into his hips, his breath tickling the tendrils of hair at her temple as he spoke.

"I never left. I never will," he swore. "I was right here waiting for you."

Her chin lowered to her chest, but she didn't pull away. She wanted to lean back into the comfort of his arms. She wanted to believe everything he said, vampire or not. If she closed her eyes she could believe he was a man.

"You weren't really waiting for me. This is about the baby. Not me."

His grip on her shoulders tightened, and suddenly she was pulled back. He pinned her against the windows, his chest to hers, one hand braced over her head. His fingers dipped under her chin to lift her face to his. His eyes were a dark, storm blue, and one lean cheek ticked angrily.

"You keep sayin' that, but it isn't true. It's all about you."

She jerked her chin away and shoved hard at his chest, a little surprised when he barely rocked back on his heels. Sometimes she forgot how strong he was. He wasn't someone she could bully when she was feeling mean.

"I'm just the vessel carrying your child. You don't have any real feelings for me."

Frustration flickered over his face, and she was struck by how easy it was to read him. Spike didn't hide things from her. He bluffed, bullied and bullshitted others, but never her. He pressed her shoulders into the glass, and dipped his head so he was right in her face.

"I've always thought of you, but now that I've had you…I crave your taste, your touch. You think I would be like this if another woman was carrying my child? Think I would want to touch Red? Taste Demon Girl?" As he spoke, one hand trailed over her shoulder and down her arm. He tangled his long fingers with hers, pulling her forward until their connected hands cupped his hard cock jutting in his loose trousers. "Think I want to do this with them?"

Her fingers curled around him against her own volition. Her mouth watered as she remembered the taste of him, the texture of his skin, the earthy, masculine smell of him. She wanted to pull away, but she didn't have the willpower. Closing her eyes to block out the sight of him, she gathered her thoughts to fight back.

"It's just the magic. It's like Willow's spell. It wants us to be together."

"That doesn't make sense." He shook her lightly, and she opened her eyes. "If we are supposed to be her protectors then our feelings would only extend to her. There would be no reason for me to feel—" He broke off, seemingly lost. He turned his gaze away, but she pressed her fingers into his cheek, turning him back to her. Still confused he lowered his head until their brows touched. "I wouldn't feel anything for you," he continued. "I would just guard over you until the baby was born. I wouldn't want to see you happy or give you pleasure. I wouldn't care about what you thought of me or try to make myself into someone better."

"Is that what you're doing?" she asked softly, her hand still on his cheek.

"Look around, Buffy. This isn't just for the li'l bit. If all I was meant to do were guard over her, then I'd do it from a crypt. I could live like a vampire, instead of trying at being a man. We may not get along, but I would like to try. I want to get to know you, Buffy. Not just as the mother of my child, but as a woman."

Buffy didn't know how to respond. Something was hot and tight in her chest, and she didn't know if she could speak around it. What do you say to a man when he confesses to trying to be better just so he could have a shot with you?

"I want to share something with you that I've only seen since I started living here like a man."

"What," she choked out, still stunned.

Gently he turned her about so she faced the glass. "The sunset."

The sky was painted in reds and yellows, the mountains cast in violet. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but it was a sight she took for granted. She realized then, that Spike hadn't truly seen the sun rise or set in hundred and twenty years. He was sharing something miraculous with her. She suddenly had a piece of him, that even Drusilla, the woman he loved for decades couldn't have.

She could feel the warm panes of glass before her, and the hard, cool press of Spike's body behind her as he leaned into her. His weight rocked her forward and to balance herself she pressed her palms flat on the glass. He pulled her hair to the side, exposing the long line of her neck as he nuzzled the hollow behind her ear. She startled. Her slayer instincts vibrating in warning. He sensed her trepidation and wound his muscular arm around her waist, pinning her to him. Her breath hitched as the tip of his nose traced her jugular to her shoulder. He licked the curve of flesh where her shoulder formed her neck, and with deliberate tenderness he opened his mouth, pressing his human teeth against her in a painless bite.

She was tense beneath him, but he refused to let her go. One hand found its way under her blouse, his fingers tracing the taunt skin stretched over her midriff, while his other hand swept over her hip towards the hem of her swede skirt. He walked his fingers along her outer thigh, inching her skirt upward with agonizing slowness, while he tongued the patch of flesh still between his teeth. She arched her neck, her breath stuttering in her chest. It would be so easy for him to call the demon forth. He could pierce the thin barrier of her skin without effort, and then she would be wholly at his mercy. Was it only the chip that stopped him or was there something more in the possessive way he held her under his teeth?

His hands were everywhere. Roving over her stomach, toying with the underwire of her bra, sliding between her thighs to trace the edge of her panties. Her body heated up, and she could feel her sweat-dampened palms stick to the glass. He released her neck, soothing her skin with the flat swipe of his tongue. He blew a stream of cold air over the wet patch of skin, and shivers slid down her spine.

"I want you, Buffy. Been waitin' for you. Say yes. Stay with me." He flicked open the pearl buttons of her blouse expertly with one hand. He cupped his hand over her breast, as he worked the button situated in the valley of her cleavage. Her nipple hardened painfully under his palm and she arched, pressing her breast into his hand, her neck to his mouth. He licked her along the silk collar of her blouse, beneath the fall of her hair to the other shoulder. His teeth nipped gently, before clamping down on the muscle.

"W-what if, I say no?" She was hot and it was hard to think. His body was a cool wall at her back, and she pressed into him, trying and failing to control her temperature.

"Then I'd be a gentleman and see you home. But then I'd come back and wank off to fantasies of you." He drew her unbuttoned blouse and jacket away, and they draped on her elbows, exposing the golden expanse of her shoulders to his appreciative lips and tongue. "I'd dream of licking my way down your spine and tonguing those two adorable dimples right above your delectable arse."

She heard the crunch of cartilage, and her breath caught in her throat. He nipped at her bra strap, and it suddenly fluttered down over her breast. His fingers ghosted along her ribs, plucking away the lacy fabric of her bra cup to toy with her nipple. "I'd dream about your beautiful tits as I stroked my cock, wishing desperately my fist was as warm as your hot li'l mouth." Her other bra strap fluttered over her shoulder and the whole thing slid down around her waist like a lacy belt. He cupped both her breasts, pulling her against him so her back was flush against his chest. She could feel his hard cock nudge her backside, and she couldn't stop the teasing swish of her hips if she wanted too.

"Say you'll stay or condemn me to a cold, lonely wank."

His touch wasn't light or teasing. He cupped her breasts possessively, massaging the muscles of her upper chest with his fingers. Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder, and she tried not to think how wrong it was to expose her throat to a predator.

"Liar. You'll drop me off and find yourself some other woman. Harmony or something."

She didn't think their bodies could get any closer, but she was wrong. He pulled her into him tightly until every curve and crevice of her body was poured over his. He wrapped one arm over her breasts, and his other hand snaked down her body to cup her pussy through her skirt. His possessive stance screamed, _mine!_

"If you want to leave I'll take you, but rest assured, Buffy I won't be seeking out any other women. I don't want anyone, but you. Why would I settle for something inferior, when I've tasted perfection? I'd rather dust waiting for you, than get my rocks off on some tramp."

Buffy didn't know what to say to that. The intensity of his voice, his words, it was almost too much for her. Was this still just sex? He couldn't possibly be in love with her. So this had to be sex. So why did he sound so infatuated? Why was she responding so earnestly? She craved the need she heard in his voice. She desperately wanted to be wanted, but did that mean by anyone? If it were someone else crooning such sweet, dirty nothings in her ears, would she react the same? She thought not. There was something about Spike. There had _always_ been something about him.

"I'll stay," she promised breathlessly.

Her words seemed to release Spike, giving him permission to unleash his desires on her. He jerked her shirt and jacket down her arms, and she swayed at the loss of contact with the glass. She quickly replaced her palms on the window, knowing she was going to need all the support she could get. He swept her hair to the side, and licked, nipped and lathered his way down the curve of her spine in a slow, sensuous descent that had her nerve-endings tingling endlessly. His hands danced along the planes of her back and over her sides, seeking to memorize the feel of her. When he came to the belt of her bra, he unsnapped it and flung it away with barely a pause. He dropped to his knees, his teeth snagging the tongue of the zipper on her swede skirt. He slowly drew it down, his nimble fingers undoing the clasp at the waist. He dragged it off her with her panties, leaving her bare except for her knee high, brown leather boots.

"Beautiful." He cupped her ass in both hands, massaging the muscles deep inside. She felt him nuzzling against her cheeks, but she was completely unprepared for the sharp sting of the human bite on the fleshiest part of her ass. With a squeal she jumped, and tried to whirl around, but he held her steady with a strong grip on her hips.

"Keep watching the sunset. What color is it now?"

Buffy refocused her gaze, realizing she was so intent on Spike she had completely disregarded the breathtaking view in front of her. The full, red sun had barely begun to kiss the horizon, and an orange blaze enveloped the mountains, the sky a rosy pink fading violet into the ether. The mountains looked like they were on fire, but shadows were creeping up from underneath as darkness reached towards the dying light.

"Pink," she whispered.

His thumbs dipped between her thighs, pressing against her pussy lips to peel them apart. "Yes. A nice deep pink," he concurred, his breath was cool against the hottest part of her. His tongue traced the edges around his thumbs, before dipping inside in a cool, wet onslaught of pleasure. She hummed and angled her hips back to give him better access. Her palms slipped on the glass, leaving behind cloudy streaks, and her breath fogged around her.

He teased and taunted, and she whimpered and whined, begging him for more. She wanted his fingers, but he would only tease the edges of her lips with his thumbs. She wanted his cock, but he hummed his refusal against her clit.

"You taste so good, slayer. Sweet and tart and wet. Like a ripe summer peach. I just want to swallow you down."

She pressed her forehead to the glass, her lashes fluttering. Color danced behind her eyelids like sunspots. She opened her eyes and saw the crest of the sun over the mountains. Panic suddenly set in. She wanted to share this moment with Spike.

"Spike. Watch with me before it's gone," she begged. She couldn't understand the sudden sadness inside her. The absolute need that they watch the sunset together before it disappeared.

He wrapped his hands around her thighs as he stood. His hard cock slid into her from behind, and her breath huffed across the glass. He fitted his face next to hers so their cheeks pressed together.

"It's beautiful," she told him as they looked at the setting sun. He slid out slow, until the tip of his cock teased her lips then pounded back into her. She cocked her hips back to meet his thrusts, grinding down on him before he receded to thrust again.

"Like you," he whispered in her ear.

"No." She shook her head, her hair sliding over her shoulder. "I'm just a girl. That's magic."

Spike's hands covered hers. Without them anchored on her hips, he couldn't plow into her, so they rocked in a slow, sensual rhythm. Their fingers entwined, until they were wrapped together completely.

"You are magic, Buffy. We're magic together." He pulled their entwined hands down until they were laced over her belly.

She keened low in her throat, fighting the urge to close her eyes. She wanted to watch the sunset. She wanted to see how it ended.

One set of their entwined hands slid up her body to cup her breasts with her own palm, and the other curled over her pussy. Their fingers toyed with her clit, shooting sparks of pleasure throughout her body. Outside the window, the shadows crept closer to the fading light and the color of the falling sun intensified. Pinks and purples, reds and gold cascaded over the landscape.

As the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the last of the blood-red color faded from the night sky, her climax rocked through her. She trembled around his cock, holding him tight in her body. His teeth clamped down on her shoulder, but she could feel from the angle of his head that he was watching the dying light with her. She felt him tense, and his growl of release rolled over her captured flesh and all the way down her spine.

He released her shoulder, lapping lazily at the faint indentations of his blunt teeth on her skin. "Maybe, someday we'll see dawn together, Buffy."

Something tight and hot clenched in the center of her chest and threatened to burst from her throat in a sob. She was overwhelmed with the desire to see the birth of a new day with Spike. To stand witness with him as the dawn rose to burn out the dark. To see the beginning instead of the end.

Then the room darkened as the last of the light extinguished, and the wonderful promise of dawn seemed so very far away. She pressed her sweaty forehead to the glass as she fought to drag air into her lungs. As the tingles in her body faded, she briefly thought about running home, but then he traced her pulse with his tongue and she couldn't remember where home was.

A/N: Don't forget to review and vote! Loves!


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